Cradled So Tenderly
by BlurtItAllOut
Summary: Bros helping bros whenever their paths cross is more than alright, but how does Kurt react when Blaine is suddenly living in his city, five years after they broke up? And how will Blaine's news affect Kurt, how will he handle this challenging time? Kurt needs to learn how to accept help offered, and Blaine needs to stop blaming himself for past mistakes. This is their journey.
1. The Five Weddings

**Happy New Year, everybody!**

**New year, new story? This is my contribution from NaNoWriMo, so this is a completed story of 20 chapters and epilogue (unless something changes, last NaNoWriMo-story "Over the Counter" ended up with a bonus-chapter after some inspiring reviews). I'm still in the process of editing and polishing, so I hope to update every Thursday - at least this is a Thursday in my part of the world :p**

**This story is rated M, because there will be graphic sex - I'm already hiding behind an overturned couch in embarrassment, but it was necessary for the story which my plot-bunny kept feeding me. I'm not very versed in writing that kind of material, so please forgive me in advance, I only strive to be a better writer. Oh, and in case I need to clearify that - we're talking about sex between two men, although that shouldn't be much of a surprise considering the universe I write in.**

**I'm not sure if it warrants an M-rating, but this story will also deal with a character's sickness - no death. I'm not working in the medical profession, but I have read a lot for research and background - but I have also indulged in author's creative liberties to fit the plot. This isn't a story to learn about medical treatment, so I hope you can forgive any conscious and accidental mistakes, and nonchalant approaches.**

**This is a story which follows canon up to the episode 4:04 "The Break Up" - and then it diverts. Kurt and Blaine never talked out their issues, they never reconciled. I don't think I stray far from canon, I just imagine what would have happened if Kurt didn't reach out a hand and tried to forgive Blaine and continue their friendship back then. It obviously lead to some changes. This story is set approximately some five years after Kurt's graduation.**

**I hope you'll enjoy this story! Please let me know what you think.**

**And for those who worry - I'm not abandoning my other WIPs. November and December have been awfully busy with private non-writing projects, so I had to give them less of a priority. But I will continue to write both on No Regrets and Can You Love Me Again? until they are completed.**

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><p>He doesn't understand why it takes him by such a surprise, that they ended up in this position again. It's the fifth wedding they've both attended since they broke up, and at the previous four they've ended up in a bed together. It's not as if Kurt ever plans for it to happen, and he doesn't think Blaine makes a conscious decision about it in advance either. It just… sort of happens.<p>

The first time was after the wedding that didn't end in marriage, when Emma did a runaway bride on poor Will. There were a lot of emotions in the air with all the hurt and regret, it was difficult to see Blaine again when Kurt still was so very much in love with him, everybody else around them already had someone or found someone during the reception, and it just felt so safe and easy to fall to bed with Blaine.

The second time was after the same couple finally managed to give their I do's. Kurt had been in Lima to see his dad, and the relief of seeing him so healthy had invoked a need to celebrate and truly _feel_. And Blaine had honoured his promise to keep an eye on Kurt's dad, which made him so grateful. It was only right of Kurt to thank him profusely for being there, when Kurt couldn't. So after the simple wedding, he asked if Blaine had time for a coffee. Blaine did him one better, and invited him home for coffee and freshly made cookies. Alone in the empty Anderson home, they had taken a trip together down the memory lane, and as the saying goes – one thing lead to the other.

The third time had been a shotgun wedding two years later. Tina and Mike found back to each other, details unclear and not important, and neither had birth control been. They found themselves seven weeks pregnant, and the thought of telling their parents that they would be grandparents to a child born outside of marriage was too scary. So they told everyone that they were madly in love and happy to finally be back together, and invited to a wedding with shortest notice possible because they supposedly knew from past experience that they were meant for forever. Kurt hadn't known about their predicament at the moment, and sometime between dessert and cutting the cake, and far down in a wine bottle, he'd grown unreasonably bitter that they got the high school-sweethearts happy ending he had assumed Blaine and he would have. Married by 21? What a joke. Further down the wine bottle, he'd started to resent mostly everyone in the room, because they got to smile and see and live and experience, while Finn was so painfully gone. It's the closest to angry sex they ever got, and it had been intense and rough. So much that Kurt woke up feeling ashamed of using Blaine, and snuck out of the room as silently as possible. That's when he decided to start dating again.

The fourth wedding was the next time Kurt saw Blaine again, having successfully managed to avoid him and any informal settings where he might show up whenever Kurt was back in Lima throughout almost the entire year it had been since the Chang-Chang wedding. Fortunately, Burt and Carole spent much time in Washington, so Kurt didn't have to go to Lima that often. He could rather see them on the Capitol. But when Santana and Brittany decided to tie the knot, he couldn't not go. It had been a wedding brimming of gay pride, with a lot of friends from the queer community, and friends from the stage and dance scene – who were also gay. Thinking about their shared Lima background, it had been emotionally overwhelming to see the two girls exchange their vows. Kurt wanted to celebrate the joyous progress, he wanted to embrace the positive changes only a decade could show. But his boyfriend through seven months had broken up with him two weeks before the wedding, and Kurt wasn't really heartbroken – you have to invest your heart for that to happen, but he was yet again finding himself in a wedding feeling bitter of how life turned out and its lousy timing. It wouldn't have hurt to finally show up at one of these things with a date. But he was painfully single, where the pain mostly came from all the pitying glances and intrusive questions about his personal life. Blaine, wonderfully Blaine, must have some sixth sense for Kurt's discomfort, and had like a gentleman asked him for a dance, and whisked him away from the investigators surrounding him. Needless to say, they ended up in a bed again. Well, technically it had been against a wall, and then in a shower, but never mind semantics. Blaine had an early flight back home to LA the next morning, so it made no sense for Kurt to stay over in the hotel room, when he could sleep in, in his own bed at home.

The fifth wedding… The invitation had been a surprise, but it had been maybe the most heartwarming of them all. If someone deserved more than any other to find their true love, it was Shannon. Or Coach Beiste, as she had been better known as back at McKinley. In the invitation, she explained how the Glee club was the first place where she truly found acceptance and started to learn how to appreciate herself. As she grew more comfortable in her own skin, she found confidence. And confidence is sexy. So within soon, she met a wonderful man who truly saw her, and came without anger issues. She was convinced it never would have happened without "Mr. Schue and the kids", so that's how they all were invited for her wedding.

The party had been fun – Will and Shannon sang together, second pregnancy looked good on Emma Schuester, Mr. Beiste had some insane dance moves, and Santana couldn't stop shoving pictures of her daughter in everybody's face. The girl was still in an orphanage in Ukraine, waiting for the bureaucratic mess to let her be taken home by them. The adoption process had been long, and when they thought it wouldn't work out, they had tried artificial insemination. It didn't work the first time, but second round was successful, and Brittany was confirmed pregnant by a doctor. Two days later, they got thumbs up for adoption. A three year-old was waiting for them. The girls cried and talked over their luck and misfortune, but in the end they couldn't let go of either, and prepares to be mothers to two children in one go. Brittany said it would almost be like having twins. Their little girl is expected to come to the States in two weeks, and Brittany's due date is around Christmas. It'll give them a little more than three months to get to know their firstborn. It's madness. But with Brittany's kindness and Santana's fierceness, they will probably pull it off.

Kurt knows he could have taken a taxi to his parents' house and sleep there, but it felt wrong to lock himself in the house when they weren't there. The blaring absence of Finn was still too much to face on his own, even after five years, so he had booked a room in the hotel where the reception was held. The room had a wonderful bed with soft sheets, thick pillows currently bundled up under his shoulders, and with a Blaine relentlessly working between his legs to get them to second round.

First round had been eager, frantic, raw and quick. He's not even sure how they ended up there, probably a result of habit, or a sense of tradition. They hadn't talked much throughout the evening, just circling each other in the periphery like a prey, until the party wound down and it was time to leave. It just happened, without any of them being particularly drunk. It was just easy and safe. They finished undressing _after_ they both came, and it was clear that with the strongest rush out of their systems, they could take their time to explore and enjoy the journey instead of rushing to the finish line.

Blaine had flipped Kurt over to his back, kissed him ridiculously sweetly considering what they were doing, and then licked, bitten and kissed his way down Kurt's torso, followed by curious fingers covering the few patches of skin his lips might have overlooked. After what felt like a torturous eternity, he ended up between Kurt's legs, where he's currently cradling his balls so tenderly in his palm while encouraging Kurt's dick to come out to play again. It's probably embarrassing to admit how close Kurt was to come a second time, and he had to consciously think about anything else for a while to make sure it lasted long enough for Blaine to join him. Blaine might have mentioned something about riding Kurt, and that was not something he would want to miss, not even for one of Blaine's amazing blowjobs. There's something to say about Blaine's passion in bed, it makes each time such an experience.

Kurt doesn't know what porn Blaine's watched, or books he's read, or men he's been with, but each time is a surprise with him. Tonight, he's so attentive to Kurt's balls, and it's not something Kurt is used to. It would make him feel self-conscious, if it wasn't so easy to be with Blaine, like being cradled tenderly by someone near and dear. Most men he stumbles into bed with focus on his dick or their own dick, hopefully sometimes both dicks, but rarely anything else. But Blaine is paying so much attention to them, with his fingers, lips, tongue. He makes a detour to Kurt's knee, or collarbone, or sole of his foot. But he repeatedly comes back to his balls.

"Want you to fuck me," he murmurs into Kurt's perineum. "Want to feel you inside me."

"Yeah?" Kurt wheezes hoarsely.

Blaine nods, nose rubbing against Kurt's ball sack. He turns around on top of Kurt, quite clumsily considering what a coordinated dancer he is.

"Open me?" he exhales with much air, wiggling his butt closer to Kurt's head before diving back to a dick screaming for attention.

Kurt blindly reaches out for the lube he _knows_ they dropped on the mattress earlier, and finds it wedged between two pillows. He pours a generous amount onto his fingers, making sure they're all slicked up before running the pad of one finger slowly around Blaine's rim. The boy moans loudly around Kurt's balls, as if he's trying to insert them both into his mouth. Kurt runs a hand up as far as he can along Blaine's spine, enjoying the strong muscles under the taught skin.

He should probably prepare him better, but his dick is whining impatiently, and so is Blaine.

"Kurt, Kurt, I need you…" he stutters, trying to turn around even if Kurt still has three fingers busy in him.

Kurt spreads his fingers one more time before easing out, hoping it's enough. It doesn't take long for Blaine to get in position, hovering just above Kurt for a torturously long second, until he sinks slooowly down. He scrunches his eyes closed, jaw slack, and in that moment he looks so raw, so man, so beautiful. Kurt rests a hand on his tensed, but still soft, tummy, as if the light pressure of five fingers is enough to keep Blaine balanced. They're in their twenties, but this, right this moment, still makes Kurt feel like a teenager. The premature ejaculation-kind of teenager. It's ridiculous, he knows, but sex with Blaine has always been different from sex with other guys. It gets to him on a cellular level, and maybe it's because you never forget your first, and that makes him more significant. Or maybe it's because even if Kurt has been with experienced men who has read chapters of the gay Kama Sutra which Kurt is still blushingly avoiding – Blaine brings a whole new level of passion and excitement to the metaphorical table. Kurt's had his fair share of sex, both good and bad. But more often than not, it's felt like a joint effort at reaching hopefully one orgasm each, a second might be a bonus if the erection is there. But with Blaine, the orgasm is just an apropos. How they explore each other's bodies, how Kurt feels almost worshipped, how it is room for laughter and joking without losing the mood, how Blaine touches him, looks at him, how Kurt's skin sings louder for each touch, how having Blaine over or under him is felt to the marrow of his bones. It's not making love, it can't be, because Kurt may willingly and openly give his entire body to Blaine time and time over, but he has no heart to give him. So it's just sex. But it isn't just sex.

Later, Blaine has him cradled in his arms from behind, lazily kissing him wherever he can reach without moving. His neck, his shoulder, his hair, his bicep. He doesn't say anything, which is odd. Blaine is usually such a chatterbox, unable to keep silent, talking and talking. Tonight, though, he seems thoughtful. Kurt lets him be, doesn't ask. It's easier that way. Earlier, when they've hooked up, Blaine's still been slightly tipsy (and Kurt usually not much better), talking about making art and creating something beautiful in a drab world. It always stung a little, because it reminded Kurt so much about the young Blaine who went to _Scandals_ with him. Kurt is much more of a gay bar superstar these days. But he hasn't forgotten where he came from, he hasn't forgotten his first love, or their first fight, or how it lead to their first time. And each time he thinks, this has to be the last time. Hopefully, there aren't more weddings within the increasingly limited group of shared friends ahead of them. Hopefully, their paths don't have to cross. Ending in bed, like this, isn't healthy. It's vital, though.

Kurt lets Blaine hold him, brushing a hand along his body, leaving goose bumps in its trail. Blaine is everywhere around him, on him, in him. Kurt closes his eyes, hums a pleased noise when Blaine noses his neck, trying trying trying not to think of him as a lover, because he's just sex. Magnificent sex, but just sex. It always does something to Kurt, seeing Blaine again, and he usually needs at least a week back in New York to readjust and get him out of his system. It's so worth it, but a night with Blaine comes with a price. For the next week or more, New York will be faced with a hard-working Kurt, who's pushing himself as far as possible to erase any possibility of thinking about Blaine. Unfortunately, Kurt forgets that the rest of the city might not work as determined, restlessly and obsessively as he does, and he struggles to deal with that frustration. He sets the bar high, he expects records of himself and consequently of everyone currently involved with him.

When he was still a student at NYADA, a night with Blaine would mean he would push himself harder, further, higher, longer. He'd do exercises to increase his lung capacity, to hold the tones for longer. He'd double up on his yoga training back home, to be able to lift his legs higher. He'd push himself further, challenge his comfort zones, to take bolder decisions and roles on stage. He'd study harder, to really understand the impact of opera in modern music. He pushed himself, because it inevitably pushed the sense, sight and scent of Blaine further back in his memory, until it was merely a nostalgic and sweet experience, and not something that left him disheveled and emotionally raw.

Rachel would look worryingly at him in these periods, the few times they happened to be in the Bushwick loft at the same time, in between their respective schoolwork, jobs at the diner and Vogue. When Rachel began dating again, it left even less time together. But they continued to live together. They had grown quite fond of the apartment, it was a lot of space for a decent amount of money, and the commute was more than bearable when the alternatives were shoeboxes and higher rent.

Currently, Rachel is on tour in London with _Funny Girl_, which made it impossible for her to attend this wedding. But it also means that when Kurt comes home tomorrow evening, he has the place to himself, and doesn't have to face her expressive eyes and constant tea making, as if it's enough to make him feel better. He'll be alone and have all the freedom to rinse his system of anything Blaine, just how he prefers to do it. But that's tomorrow. Tonight, he has this.

He turns around in Blaine's arms, and kisses him right on the lips. Blaine looks surprised, confused, but smiles. He runs a hand through Kurt's messy, messy hair, but don't think about that. Blaine caused his bed head, so he has to stand that awful sight. Blaine's fingers trail down his temple, to his chin, where he tilts Kurt's face for a new kiss, a kiss so deep and overpowering it takes literally nothing to roll Kurt over on his back again. He's not sure if his body is up for round three, but making out is nice too. It's a hell of a lot easier than talking or thinking. As long as he doesn't fall asleep, tomorrow is still a long way away.


	2. The Move

**Dear readers, if you should have any questions about this story and concerns about reading it, feel free to message me.**

**I hope you'll enjoy taking this journey with me!**

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><p>Blaine should probably be more careful with his money until he's received his first paycheck in his new job. But he's tired from travelling across the country, from not sleeping enough, from stressing with the preparations before this move. Hauling too much luggage on the subway and through unfamiliar streets to find his new apartment doesn't even remotely appeal to him. So he splurges on a taxi. He's not the only one with that exact thought, but it isn't too long to wait for one of the yellow vehicles. The driver mutters at the sight of Blaine's excessive amount of luggage, but Blaine helps him load the trunk – after securing his guitar in the passenger seat, and the box of original gramophone records in the backseat next to him. A truck with his furniture and boxes is on its way, but some things he treasure too much to leave in the hands of movers. And the truck isn't expected until Friday afternoon, so he had to pack enough to survive almost four days in his new home – a home with bare floors, walls and rooms. Hopefully, the toiletries, clothes, sleeping bag and minimum of kitchen utensils he packed will get him through these days. That, and lots of take away, he expects.<p>

He should have arrived in the city no later than yesterday, to get ready for his first day in his new job – which was today. But Coach Beiste's wedding in Lima delayed him. Fortunately, his boss was understanding, and gave him some extra time to finish packing and settle down. Tomorrow morning he has to meet in the theatre, though, and he can't wait to begin this new adventure. He's so eager, he wouldn't have minded meeting up after lunch today. But the director had told him to take the entire day off, claiming he'd need it. According to Google maps, Blaine could get from LaGuardia to the theater within half an hour, and he said so to the director, along with his flight information. But the man had simply laughed, and told him he'd learn soon enough.

Blaine might be beginning to learn. He checks his pocket watch to compare with the meter, if it is fixed. But no, he's been in the taxi for more than 40 minutes, and they haven't even crossed the river yet.

He sighs, and slumps down in the seat, sending off a quick text. There's an endless to do-list in his messenger bag, and he should probably start working on it. But he isn't ready to begin managing his new life from the backseat of a taxi. He might have to get used to taking advantage of his downtime later, as he expects taking part in a brand new production will be time consuming. But today he wants to take his time and take in new impressions. He wants to create memories today, he wants to remember arriving New York as something more than a blurred backdrop for rushed phone calls, texting and online research. Also, some things deserve more than a static conversation with a Mexican eavesdropper.

He can't stop thinking about Kurt, though, despite of the excitement of this move. Waking up with him in his arms on Sunday had been surreal, and in between showers, a farewell-blowjob and breakfast, it hadn't been any time to talk. Blaine had wanted to sit down with him and find back to the great conversations they used to share. Blaine had wanted to sit down and learn more about Kurt's current life, and to tell him his own good news. But there hadn't been any time, and it wasn't something he wanted to spring on Kurt like a rushed surprise. He wanted to tell him properly. So Kurt doesn't know that Blaine is moving to New York. It's with purpose that Blaine hasn't mentioned it on Facebook yet. He didn't want Kurt to find out that way, on the off chance he should log on after years of absence, or the risk of someone else telling Kurt. And he honestly thought they'd have time to talk during the wedding, and then he could make the announcement through his social medias. After all, something isn't true until it's written on Facebook...

Maybe it had been for the best. Throughout the 48 hours since they went separate ways, Blaine hasn't been able to stop thinking about Kurt. Not that there's anything new or strange to that. Being with Kurt like that always does something to Blaine. It reignites the love he wasted, it reminds him of everything he used to feel about this young man. It's not a secret that Blaine never managed to move completely on, that he never got over Kurt, that he still daydreams about earning his forgiveness and a second chance. And Kurt may have been an important factor when deciding to say yes to this role in New York.

But that's not what has been featured most prominently on his brain these last two days. No, Blaine can't let go of the thought that something was very, very off with Kurt. He likes to believe that he knows the man, body and soul, although admittedly more body than soul for the last five years. Something wasn't as it used to be, and the more he thinks about it, the more he's sure of it. And he needs to tell Kurt, in case he isn't aware. But Blaine has no idea how to approach something sensitive like that.

Finally, the taxi stops by a tall apartment building. Blaine hands the driver his credit card, glad he managed to save up some money from the various gigs and minor parts he got while studying, and not spend everything on rent, food and life. Of course, living with Cooper reduced some of his costs, and rooming with an actor gave him slightly better intel on auditions and available parts. Blaine had tried to embrace as many options as possible, at least as long as they seemed ideal for his resume and experience. Some parts caused more expenses than income, he learned that acting against his brother was something he'd avoid like the plague, and pretending to have sex with a man was much more awkward than pretending to have sex with a woman because the latter felt so obviously like acting and the former so much more personal.

Ready for his new life in New York, he steps out of the cab. He looks to the skyline, and smiles. It's four years later than initially planned, but he's here now.

"Welcome to New York, man!" a familiar voice greets him, and a young man steps out from leaning against the wall.

"Sam!" Blaine exclaims, and engulfs him in a tight hug. "I'm so sorry it took longer than expected, have you been waiting long?"

"No worries. It's New York, you'll get used to it," he grins. "Let's get your shit to your new home," he adds, nodding at the impatient driver tapping the truck lid unsubtly. Blaine smiles apologetically to the man, and starts hauling out his two suitcases, brimming bag, wooden box of gramophone records and guitar.

Together, Sam and Blaine get everything inside the building. Fortunately, there's an elevator, so they don't have to take the stairs all the way to seventh floor.

"Thank you for helping me. And for not telling Mercedes."

"Hey, you're my bro, okay? I'm sure she'll understand."

Blaine's isn't as convinced, but he's still grateful that Sam agreed to keep quiet. Blaine had to tell someone who wasn't named Anderson, when he got offered his first real part outside a school production, and even before he had graduated! Who better than his probably best friend? He's still in touch with several of the Warblers, but Sam has a special place in his heart. He was really important to Blaine after he messed up everything and lost Kurt. Sam prevented him from transferring back to Dalton, and they grew close. Sam talked sense into him when Blaine daydreamed about some grand gesture to win Kurt back – a public proposal or something spectacular that would have to convey the message that Blaine was truly sorry, and wanted a future with Kurt. That never happened, thanks to Sam's reality check. Blaine still hoped they would navigate back together again. They even hooked up twice during Blaine's Senior year, after two Will and Emma-weddings, but Adam never left the picture completely, so Blaine backed off. Kurt had obviously moved on, enjoyed some carnal fun with Blaine, but never gave any sign of wanting more from him. Blaine had been devastated after the break up, drowned in his insecurities, and hadn't been confident and strong enough to fight for Kurt. He'd taken the scraps Kurt would give him, but never asked for more, something Sam had supported. Sam had expressed he was afraid Blaine would do something rushed, ending up even more heartbroken.

After high school, they moved together to Los Angeles. With some geographical distance, it was easier to nurture his broken heart. He bloomed at LAADA, Los Angeles Academy of Dramatic Arts, and gained confidence, friends, flirty attention and self-esteem. Therefore, it didn't hurt as much when they hooked up for the third time, even if it left him ridiculously grateful for getting that miniscule taste of Kurt in his life again. As far as Blaine knew, Adam wasn't any longer a part of Kurt's life, but it didn't feel right to initiate anything when they lived on opposite ends of the country. Besides, even if Adam was gone, there were probably other young men lining up for Kurt. Someone who didn't cheat, and disappoint, and wreck hearts.

Kurt and Blaine weren't the only ex-couple messing with boundaries, though. When New Directions came to Los Angeles for Nationals their Senior year, Sam had ended up in Mercedes' arms and bed, and when the two young men moved to the west coast, it didn't take long for his friend to get in touch with his ex-girlfriend. It didn't really take all that long before they could remove the ex from that label either. When Mercedes decided to move to New York in hopes of improving the inspiration for her record, Sam blindly followed her. Blaine tried living alone for half a year, but it didn't suit him. After having boarded at Dalton, lived and breathed with the intensity of New Directions, and then roomed with Sam, he just felt lonely. It was Cooper who suggested Blaine move in with him, and take advantage of the spare room Coop merely used for his assorted headshots and old manuscripts from former auditions. It wasn't an easy sacrifice for Cooper, to box it and place them in the apartment's storage unit in the basement, or so he said. But he claimed to be sick and tired of watching Blaine mope, and his baby brother already came over regularly for Anderbro-dinners.

So they lived together until Blaine graduated from LAADA. Now, however, he's ready to live on his own, alone in the apartment Sam helped him pick. He's been a true friend, bending the truth to his girlfriend in order to help Blaine. Sam had looked at a bunch of crappy apartments for him, until he finally found something good enough. Even if Blaine studied the online advertisements and talked to the owner or real estate-agency on the phone, Sam had gotten some bad surprises when he showed up at what had seemed to be promising prospects. One place had failed to mention that the shower was in the kitchen. Another place was smelling so badly of pot, Sam wasn't sure it would ever clear out. The third place had deep cuts in the entrance door, resembling that scene from _The Shining_. Sam didn't even ring the bell. But eventually, they found a place that fit the description. It wasn't huge; Blaine knew enough about the business to know that not all new musicals take off and receive success, he could be out of work in merely months. He's determined and willing to work hard, but if it isn't a hit among the audience, there is no ticket sale to cover his salary, and if he doesn't have an income, he can't have a sky high rent. So he had decided to be sober when choosing his first NY home.

"This is the Blaine shack!" Sam exclaims, arms spread wide, and he turns around 360 degrees like an excited circus director. "Let me give you the tour!"

Blaine grins, and follows his enthusiastic friend around in the moderate apartment. A tiny entry hall, and Blaine makes a mental note to buy more hooks for his coats and scarves. The living room seems bigger than it probably is. As soon as Blaine starts filling it with furniture, he'll undoubtedly run out of space too soon. He has a wide screen TV, DVD-player, a few game consoles, a media set and a bookshelf in the truck on its way from LA, which he hopes will fit. He'll need to buy a couch and a table eventually, after taking measurements. Fortunately, the kitchen has all the appliances he needs, but maybe he can fit a bar bench and two tall stools later. It's not a priority compared to a comfortable couch, though, and his first paycheck will go towards that. The bedroom will be crowded with the large bed Cooper convinced him to take from his room there. Blaine hates to admit that his brother made a valid point when he reminded him that he's old enough to bring boys to his place, but too old to invite them to stay in a bunk bed. So he'd blushingly accepted the extra wide bed. He'd never stomached the thought of bringing anyone home for a night, and exposing them to Cooper's eccentricity. It was easier to go to someone's home. The thought of inviting a hot guy home makes him feel ridiculously grown up. Until he remembers there's really only one person in New York he wants. It takes him back to being a clueless, helpless teenager.

"Do you want me to help you unpack?" Sam offers when the tour has gone full circle.

"Thank you, but I'll manage," Blaine smiles disarmingly. Sam has the biggest heart, but there are no concept of structure and order to his system. Blaine knows exactly how chaotic Sam's closet is, and he spent a fair amount of time cleaning up after him in their shared space while rooming.

"Great!" Sam grins, almost looking relieved. "It's time to celebrate your arrival to The Big Apple," he says, and drags Blaine over to the kitchen. There he opens the refrigerator. "I took the liberty of stocking the fridge with some essentials."

Blaine steps up on his toes to peak over Sam's shoulder, and there he sees a six pack of beer and two frozen pizzas. It's probably too early for alcohol, but Blaine decides to be a rebel for once.

"To your new life," Sam clinks the bottle neck against Blaine's.

"To my new life," Blaine agrees, settling more comfortably. They rolled out his sleeping bag, and is leaning against the wall.

"What did you tell Mercedes?"

"Audition. But I have to tell her eventually."

"I know." Blaine takes a larger sip to buy himself some time. "I want to tell Kurt myself. If she knows… They're so close, I can't imagine she would keep it to herself. And I want him to hear it from me."

"Fair enough," Sam nods. "What exactly is it that he's going to hear from you, though?"

"That there's a new boy in town?" _That I still love him. That I think something's wrong with him…_

"Just… Don't get your hopes up, okay? I know how easily you daydream about the two of you, I know how little it takes from him for you to imagine a second chance."

"We shared the night this weekend," Blaine admits. Both Sam and Mercedes were in the wedding, but he doesn't think they noticed, considering how caught up they had been in each other.

"Blaine…" Sam sighs. "You guys have the weirdest tradition. But you have to remember that it was sex. Just sex. Don't you think Kurt would have said something by now, if he saw it as more?"

"I'm in New York now," Blaine mutters, staring sadly at his empty beer bottle. He gets up to retrieve one more, Tuesday early afternoon be damned, and gestures at Sam to wordlessly ask if he wants another.

"The thing is," he says as he sits down, handing Sam his new beer, "I'm not the naïve teenager I was back at McKinley. I know I broke his heart. I broke my own heart. But I also lost my best friend. No offence," he hurriedly adds, looking apologetically at Sam. "But he was my best friend, and he was a friend in ways you can never be. Just like you're a friend in ways he never was. If I can earn his friendship again…"

"Just… Don't do anything rushed. Or stupid."

"I swear, "Blaine nods, raising his beer in the air.

"Do you think perhaps you could inform Kurt about your new address by Friday? Mercedes and I are having a party on Saturday, and it would suck if you couldn't be there."

"Of course!" Blaine beams. "That's, what, 96 hours away? Plenty of time to tell him."


	3. The Cat Out Of The Bag

**Reading your feedback and reactions is the highlight of my day, and feels like a birthday present! Thank you!**

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><p>It turns out, 96 hours isn't a lot of time, when you have promised to do something you don't know how to do.<p>

Tuesday after Sam leaves, Blaine focuses on getting his clothes in the closet, accompanied by the gramophone player scratching out the tones from an original Frank Sinatra. Then he takes a stroll in his neighbourhood, both to get acquainted with his surroundings, nearest subway station and coffee bar, and to fill his fridge and cupboards with a wider diet than the beer, frozen pizza and chips Sam left him. He even splurges on a plant, to brighten his new apartment while he waits for furniture and pictures to convert the place to a home. He regrets it when he comes home, though, and ends up leaving the plant on the floor to offer it proper sunlight. The kitchen, the only area with an elevated surface, is in the shades.

Wednesday he has to go to the theater, and he's so eager to get started in his new job, that he ends up being 40 minutes early. He may also have given himself plenty of time in case he should get lost in the unfamiliar subway system, after Sam warned him against thinking everything was just 15 minutes away. The director takes him to the stage first, and reverently Blaine steps out in the darkness, moving slowly towards the edge, with the orchestra pit, and the seemingly endless rows of plush seats. It's silly, he knows, it's not as if he's the lead man or anything. But he is the equivalent to supporting actor, he has a prominent role, and even a solo. He closes his eyes for a minute, pretending it's the opening night, with a brimming audience, the orchestra tuning their instruments, the scent of theater make up, a stage hand helping him fix his microphone to his back…

"It feels great, doesn't it?" Mr. Ryan grins at him. He startles Blaine, he had forgotten he wasn't alone there. "Don't worry, every actor treats the first meeting with a stage like some wet dream. Really spectacular, but awfully embarrassing if noticed by others."

"I… I promise you I'm professional," Blaine blushes.

"It's okay, kid," Mr. Ryan reassures him, and wraps an arm around his shoulders. "I did my research; I know who you are. It's not your first stage, even if it's your first big-boy production."

"Thank you," Blaine murmurs bashfully, and the director tugs at him.

"Come on, let's go meet the others, they should be waiting upstairs for the new kid."

The day is a flurry of measurements for his costumes, introductions to the entire ensemble, meeting the crew – including a vocal coach and a dance instructor, reading through the script as a group, talking vaguely around the personalities of the four main characters, a history lesson to better understand the context of the play, a dinner with the cast that turns into drinks to celebrate first day of rehearsal with everyone present, and a late ride back home, too late to start calling ex-boyfriends and sporadic lovers.

Thursday is yet a busy day, which makes Blaine grateful for keeping up both jogging and boxing throughout the summer. The opening scene is a big dance number, and it requires not only technique and agility, but also stamina. It's a tricky routine, and that's why they start rehearsing that one first, to make sure it'll stick in time for their premiere. A quartet from the chorus invites Blaine to join them for lunch, and it feels almost like a group date, with all the introductory questions to get to know each other. He's having the time of his life, though, and he would be happier than he's ever been before if his worries about Kurt didn't keep nagging in the back of his mind.

When he's back in his apartment, he forces himself to call Kurt. He still doesn't know what to say, but he just has to dive into it, to get it done before Sam and Mercedes' party. So he scrolls to Kurt's number in his contact list. He hasn't used that since… Probably McKinley. He's pretty sure he still knows it by heart, though. But he isn't exaggerating when he says they haven't been in touch in between their hookups. Kurt disappeared from Facebook too, so Blaine lost that casual means of being in touch, and to call him felt too… Forward. Intruding. But now he has to be direct with him.

That is, if the number he has saved wasn't disconnected… He mutters one of his rarely used swear words, and hits 2 on speed dial.

"Hello?"

"Hi Sam! Look, I need Kurt's number."

"Yes, I'm Sam Evans."

"I know you are," Blaine says puzzled. "The number I have isn't in use any longer, he must have gotten a new one sometime during these years. Not that it is weird, I just… I don't know how to reach him. Can you help me?"

"No, I'm not interested in purchasing five books for the price of two, no matter how thrilling they are."

"Sam, are you drunk?"

"The answer to that would be no."

"Oh. Oh! Mercedes is around, is she?"

"I'm glad you can see it from my perspective:"

"I'm sorry, I should have texted, I didn't think."

"That's okay, good luck with your quest."

"Text me Kurt's number?"

"Same to you, Sir."

Blaine grins and drops his phone on his sleeping bag. That isn't even on Top 5 of weird phone conversations with Sam. He's still laughing when he gets a text, and as expected it is Kurt's number sent from Sam. Blaine saves it immediately, to make sure he has it for an eventual later.

Less confident and more shakily than on his first effort, he calls Kurt again. He should have prepared a message to leave if he goes straight to the answering machine. He's an actor, he should be able to improvise something? He could casually ask if Kurt got back home safely, and make a white lie about how he forgot something in the hotel room and should call him back, or he could…

"This is Kurt."

Or he could just dive into the dreaded, longed for conversation.

"Kurt, hi!" Blaine rushes, already stumbling over the words and knotting his tongue.

"…Blaine?"

"Yeah. Hi." He can't decipher how Kurt sounds, there's too much background noise around him to hear him clearly.

"Look, I'm sorry, but I'm really busy. Rain check?"

Blaine's heart drops to his stomach, and then to his sockless feet. He expected it would be awkward, but he didn't imagine Kurt would reject and brush him off that blatantly.

"Kurt, I need to talk with you."

"That's nice," he murmurs distractedly, mentally fading away from the conversation.

"Kurt, I've moved to New York!" Blaine blurts out. He didn't want to do it like that, he wanted to ease it out carefully, and some illogical part of his brain envisioned telling Kurt over coffee.

"Oh…"

"I thought you should know. And hear it from me first."

"But you've already moved here?" There's a hint of bitterness to his voice.

"Yes." Blaine is beginning to think his strategy was a mistake. He should have told him earlier.

"What was your address this Saturday?" Kurt asks tersely.

"The same as Cooper's, in LA," Blaine says softly.

"That's one rushed decision," Kurt deadpans.

Blaine isn't an illiterate, he can still read some Kurt-in-between-lines. Kurt is hurt that Blaine didn't tell him some time during the wedding or their night together. But there wasn't as much talking going on between them, as there were… other things.

"Would you meet me for coffee some day? Let me explain?"

"I wasn't kidding when I said I'm busy. Maybe next week? I'll have to check my calendar?"

Blaine nods sadly, and hums in agreement. There once was a time when Kurt didn't have to schedule him into his agenda, and would drop almost anything to meet Blaine when he needed to talk, or even if he didn't particularly need anything, just wanted to see him.

"I guess I'll see you on Saturday? Sam and Mercedes' party?"

"Right," Kurt says, as if he had forgotten how close Sam and Blaine are, as if he hadn't yet reached the conclusion that they might run into each other from time to time now, whether Kurt wants to or not, because they still share some friends.

"Right," Blaine agrees, because it's better than shouting out how much he misses him, and why does this have to be weird?

"Right, okay, talk to you later," Kurt fires off, and then the conversation is disconnected.

Okay, so that could have gone much, much better. It's marginally better than the conversation in Bryant Park back then, though…

Blaine groans in frustration, but remembers his promise to text Sam when Kurt had been informed, so he could disclose to Mercedes. Then he lets himself collapse on his sleeping bag, wallowing in self-pity.

The fact that his back hurts like the dickens after sleeping on the floor for two nights, makes it even easier to feel sorry for himself.

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><p>The next day, Blaine learns that there is no such thing as rushing home from the theater, when the moving truck shows up an hour before expected. The subway takes the time it takes, and the afternoon rush is too busy to brave a taxi. Blaine can only sit underground, jiggling his foot impatiently, as if it'll get him to his station any faster.<p>

He texted Sam to ask if he happened to be free and around, to meet the movers. He still has a key to Blaine's apartment, and he sees no reason to change that. It'll probably come in handy more than once. But he has no reception on the train, so he doesn't know if Sam is there, or even if he's read the text.

He runs up the concrete steps to get to the surface, almost tripping on a step, but catching his balance in the last second – thank you, dance lessons at LAADA and mad tickle fights with Cooper.

"Pardon, I'm sorry, excuse me, sorry ma'am," Blaine rushes out left and right while jogging the few blocks to his apartment building, weaving his way around trolleys, dog walkers, window shoppers and giggling highschoolers.

"Oh my God, is it really you?" he rushes out happily, crouching down in front of the wheelchair.

"Yo man, someone had to protect your shit," Artie grins, loosening the arms held menacingly crossed over his chest to high five him. People are taking a wide curve around the huge pile of boxes on the sidewalk, a large framed painting, his desk, and the bookshelf.

"It's so good to see you again," Blaine smiles, admitting to himself he can't even remember if Artie was in the wedding a week ago. He must have been? "But where's my bed?"

"Blam!" a voice booms behind him, and Blaine turns automatically, answering Sam's high five.

Behind him, a handsome stranger is smiling magnetically, setting Blaine's gaydar wild. He has great hair – as in Taking-lessons-from-Kurt-Hummel great hair. And is that gayliner? With a diamond in his ear? He's wearing a casual Henley, ripped black jeans, and a leather jacket. He looks exciting, edgy, artistic. And Blaine has no idea who he is.

"My, my, my, I see the Hobbit has met Starchild. This should be interesting," Santana drawls, grinning at Blaine as she steps outside behind the two young men.

"My daylight alias is Elliot," the stranger smiles oh so intriguingly, and extends a hand to Blaine. "I play in _One Three Hill_ with Santana's ex and Kurt, so this one roped me in to help," he smiles, nodding at Santana.

"I said we needed his lovely biceps," Santana purrs, stroking his arm.

It's like being back at McKinley, with exes and innuendos and madness thrown into the mix from the first moment. Blaine loves it.

"It's great to meet you," Blaine says, swallowing down the hurt that he is so out of the loop that he didn't even know Kurt played in a band. When did Kurt decide he wanted to be in a band? Blaine always had imagined him as lead material, so unique that he was bound to go his own way. What kind of music are they playing? Show tunes? The Beatles?

"We've hauled your bed up, your media set, your ridiculously large collection of DVDs, a bongo drum, an office chair, too many garment bags – man, you need to cut down on the blazers, Dalton is so last year," Sam grins.

"Once a Warbler, always a Warblers," Blaine smiles sweetly. He's too grateful for their help to point out that they really haven't been doing much hauling, when there is a perfectly fine elevator available.

"Grab some boxes, guys. If I sit here any longer, I'll root to the asphalt like a damn dandelion," Artie commands them, waving at the still large pile of boxes.

The four of them take a box each, heading for the elevator. Santana keeps complaining about the manicure he owes her, Sam uses the opportunity to flex his muscles on their way down to show how well the boxes are to him, and Blaine tries to get to know Elliot, considering he's obviously a part of the group. They spend two trips up and down gushing over their shared love of guitar jamming.

It doesn't take all that long to get all of his belongings upstairs. Unpack and settle in is an entirely different question, though, but that's for later. He calls a pizza place with delivery which he found an add for in his mailbox last night, and orders food for everyone as a thank you. He still doesn't have a sofa, so they end up eating in his bedroom. He's sandwiched between Sam and Santana, Elliot took his office chair, and Artie always brings his own seat. The conversation runs smoothly from one topic to the other, and Blaine can't believe he forgot how much he enjoyed spending time with these people. Moving to LA gave him geographical distance to not only Kurt, but most of the people in New Directions.

"Okay guys, Mercedes is going to kill me for being late when there's so much to do back home, so I'll see you at my memorial service tomorrow," Sam finally announces, and the others decide to leave with him.

Blaine spends an hour moving furniture and figuring where everything should go. He still needs a couch and a coffee table, and probably a rug. And lamps. Daylight and lit candles can only take him so far. Moving into a bare apartment has its disadvantages, but he's looking forward to making this his place, creating a home just like he wants it to be. He just needs a few paychecks to make it happen. And tonight he has his soft bed to sleep in, with a mattress that knows him and welcomes him like a long lost friend, adjusting to his body and providing him with the sleep of the blessed child.

And tomorrow he's seeing Kurt.


	4. The Same Procedure As Last

**Oops, theoretically it is Friday in my part of the world, even if I promised updates each Thursday. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter, though!**

**As I haven't seen anything of season 6 yet, I would really appreciate if you could not talk about anything from those episodes and ruin it all for me.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything you might recognize, except the bottle of champagne I'm enjoying this fine night.**

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><p>Kurt did not spend any longer getting ready for tonight's party than usual, and he did not try on seven different outfits before choosing. Not at all. What does he care if Blaine will be there? This is nothing different from any other evening spent with his gal and her beau, and they love him no matter what he wears.<p>

Kurt gives himself that speech all the way from his loft to where Samcedes live. Who knows, he might be convinced eventually.

He discovers quickly that he won't be. All the fussing with preparations makes him late, and the room is full of people when he arrives. Still, there's only one person he sees, as if his eyes are magnets and Blaine the pole they are searching. Blaine looks up in the same moment, as if his inner magnetism is going off like a blaring alarm whenever Kurt is within a certain radius. Their eyes meet for a second, until Kurt forces his away.

Mercedes gives him a warm hug, and shoves a flute of champagne in his hand.

"Welcome," she smiles, and there's something odd about her. Mercedes likes to play host almost as well as Kurt does, but she's never met him in the door with expensive alcohol. This smells of good news. But what? A tour? A new Billboard placement? The release of her third album? Kurt smiles at the sight of Sam wrapping his arm around her waist, and decides that he is able to be patient enough to wait for her announcement, and simply be happy for her for now – whatever the reason.

He keeps observing Blaine from the corner of his eye, while he takes in the rest of the room. Blaine is talking with Brittany, obviously gushing over her baby bump and gesticulating eagerly. She hadn't been allowed to do the flight to Lima for Coach Beiste's wedding, too close to her due date. Santana had been reluctant to leave her and their first daughter, but in the end she decided to go, knowing that their neighbour would be keeping an eye on them. There are Artie, Elliot and Dany. Puck and Quinn are present, and so are some of the models Sam has worked with throughout the years, there are some of Mercedes' closest business partners, and there are a few people Kurt doesn't recognize.

Soft but upbeat background music is simmering in the background, and the mix of pleasant conversations is filling the room. Most of the guests have a plate with some kind of food, so Kurt decides to scoop out the decked table. He needs something in his hands to stop fidgeting. He probably needs some more alcohol in his blood too, for the same reason.

He pours a glass of white, and helps himself to different types of cheese, crackers and grapes. When he turns around, Elliot pats the seat next to him, and Kurt gratefully sits down, not looking directly in Blaine's direction.

"So that's the ex?" Elliot murmurs, pointedly not looking at Blaine. As they grew closer as friends, he learned some of their story, but hasn't met Blaine before. "He's cute," Elliot leans in and whispers conspiratorially. "Great ass from what I could see yesterday. And generous. His personality, I mean, I wouldn't know about the ass," Elliot chuckles high-pitched, and okay, someone's been enjoying his cocktails a little too much.

"How… What did the two of you do yesterday? And have I ever struck you as someone picking anything but excellent men?"

Elliot just looks pointedly at him. Okay, he may have stumbled and brought home a few quite regrettable choices after a few of their gigs. But when he accepts a dinner date, his taste is impeccable.

"I helped him move. Sam asked me to help," Elliot shrugs, as if it was nothing to help a stranger.

"You're too kind," Kurt murmurs.

"The world can do with some kindness," he shrugs again, barely avoiding sloshing his drink out of the glass and in his lap. "So, should we cancel rehearsal tomorrow? Or at least postpone it to later in the evening?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

This time Elliot nods in Blaine's direction.

"I know I wouldn't get up early if I had someone like him in my bed."

"Fuck you." Kurt is beginning to regret confiding in Elliot when he's hooked up with Blaine in the past. He's not even told him about last weekend yet. Elliot probably assumes, though. Rightfully so. Unfortunately.

Elliot's witty comeback is drowned out by Sam whistling sharply to get everybody's attention. He's standing up with Mercedes, holding her hand and smiling brightly. This is it, Kurt thinks, finally he'll get to know the good news. To be honest, he's slightly disappointed that Mercedes hasn't looped him in on it yet, given him a courteous preview considering how close friends they are. But he's been so busy lately, and after the wedding and everything Blaine he drowned himself completely in work, work, work, as his usual coping mechanism is. So maybe it hasn't been so easy to involve him in her life lately. Maybe he can only blame himself. Or Blaine. Stupid Blaine for being so sexy, so appealing, so magnetic, so safe, so unavoidable, Kurt's damn Achilles' heel once a year or so, and now he lives in New York, and Kurt doesn't know how to protect himself quickly against something so unexpected and unimaginable. But he's not hooking up with that boy again. Ever.

"Sam and I would like to thank everyone for coming tonight, we're so happy to have our closest friends with us for this," Mercedes says, and her eyes are fucking sparkling. This have to be huge.

"Last weekend we were in Lima, and Mercedes was being all nostalgic about how we met and shit. She insisted we go to our old high school to reminisce, and we ended up in the auditorium where the Glee club did so many performances. And there…"

"I proposed!" Mercedes squeals, throwing her arms in the air, and Sam hugs her tightly, then kisses her forehead.

"I said yes," he adds unnecessarily.

And then, within nothing, the room is a flurry of talk and whistling and applause and shouting and high five'ing. Moving on autopilot, Kurt stands up, gets up to the newly engaged, and hugs them both. Mercedes shows off the ring they bought earlier this week, and how had he not noticed that rock? Sam is wearing a matching ring, and they just look too freaking adorable. Kurt doesn't, doesn't, doesn't think about how they are yet an unlikely couple of teenage sweethearts making it.

After paying them an appropriate amount of joy and glee, he escapes to the kitchen for more to drink. He's going to need it.

The night is a blur of wine, lots of wine. Champagne, straight from the bottle. Dancing wildly with Elliot, because it's the kind of safety he needs, a passionate whirlwind that doesn't mean anything, doesn't lead to anything except dancing until his brain is too tired to think. He vaguely remembers standing on their coffee table, singing to the ever-present karaoke machine.

_I want you to know, that I'm happy for you. I wish nothing but the best for you both._

The others were trying to convince him to do a stage dive among them.

_And I'm here to remind you of the mess you left when you went away._

_It's not fair to deny me of the cross I bear that you gave to me._

_You, you, you oughta know._

He wasn't that drunk, though. He was sober enough to notice Blaine's worried looks, but drunk enough to not give a fuck. So maybe the lyrics were a tad obvious for his usual taste, but to hell with it all, to hell with all of them. And then he poured the rest of his bitter heart and lonely soul into the song.

Someone helped him down from the table when the music had faded to complete silence, and someone gently thrust a mug with hot coffee into his hand. The same someone rubbed his back soothingly when his stomach didn't agree with the coffee, and ejected it quicker than a catapult into the kitchen sink.

He's not sure how it happened, how he got here, but he finds himself leaning heavily against the sliding door to his loft apartment, while Blaine is messing with the old and quirky lock. Aided by the flickering light above them, Kurt takes in Blaine's furrowed eyebrows, deep in concentration. The tip of his tongue is peaking out, a few curls have escaped their ranks, and he just looks so devastatingly handsome, and familiar, and safe, and like something that should have been if they lived in an alternative universe.

It seems as if they've made it a tradition to hook up whenever they've met at weddings. An engagement party is close enough, right?

Kurt bats Blaine's hands off of the lock – even stupidly drunk, he knows how to tweak and jiggle the lock into cooperation. It isn't the first time he does this inebriated. With a grunt he thinks could have sounded suggestive in a different dimension, he slides the door to the side, and yanks Blaine by the hand after him. It's an equal effort to get the door closed, but he manages. Uncharacteristically careless, he toes off his shoes, drops his jacket on the floor, and tugs Blaine with him towards his bed.

Blaine is trying to say something, but Kurt hasn't got the patience or stomach for that now. He doesn't want to talk, he doesn't want to learn what Blaine is doing in New York. He just wants that little taste of Blaine he's allowed himself to splurge on, he want that appetizer so that he can live through the rest of the meal without actually eating anything. He needs this little preview, so that he can imagine he's seen it all.

"Kurt, what are you doing?" Blaine tries to ask again, and stupid Blaine isn't as drunk, and stupid Blaine is almost able to stop their journey to bed. But Kurt is _sans_ inhibitions and _plus_ determination, so he gets them both where he wants them.

"I'm gonna rock your world!" Kurt grins, poking repeatedly at Blaine's chest, and sending a nice thought to Rachel in London for coining that wonderful little catchphrase. She sure knew what she did back then, genius that she is.

"Kurt, let me go freshen up, and then we can… see what happens."

Blaine smelling of sweet sweat, of bitter beer and musky male is like coming home, but Kurt isn't going to stand in his way if he wants to clean up. Let it never be said that Kurt Hummel ignores hygiene.

Blaine backs out of the curtain-covered corner, and Kurt is about to tell him where he finds the bathroom, when he remembers that Blaine's been here before. Blaine has visited him once, only once, a fatal visit, and that is so not a lane to walk down tonight, so Kurt shakes it off, instead focusing on unbuttoning the shirt. Damn his fashion sense and knack for complicated and intricate shirts. It's actually kind of exhausting to undress a Kurt Hummel for Kurt Hummel, and he wishes Blaine would hurry up and come out to help him.

He does a little victory dance when he discovers that the shirt comes off easier if he removes the tie first. The vest disappears the same time the shirt does, oops, should perhaps have focused on one layer. Oh well. He drops the clothes unceremoniously to the floor, before working on his pants. Stupid tight pants that must have shrunk sometime during the night. He hops on one foot, trips in his pants, and finally does the stage dive they had been cheering for earlier, but fortunately lands on the mattress. Still face down, he kicks off his pants, cheers triumphantly when the belt buckle lands heavily on something, and worms his way under the covers, while humming a song he can't remember hearing lately.

_I can be an asshole of the grandest kind. I can withhold like it's going out of style._

Blaine will be here soon, and then they'll have sex, and it will be great as it always is, and Kurt can pretend that everything is just perfect, he can have that little moment until he sobers up. It's going to be great. Even if it's been less than a week since last, Kurt has an appetite for the man. He hums again.

_You see everything, you see every part._

_You see all my light and you love my dark._

_You dig everything of which I'm ashamed._

_There's not anything to which you can't relate._

_And you're still here._

He closes his eyes while murmuring the lyrics. He's just gonna rest his eyes for a little while, until Blaine comes back. Just a second or two… Not for long…


	5. The Redecorated Living Room

_Chapter five, I hope you'll enjoy this one! I really appreciate your feedback, and you help me improve and cleariy things when I edit future chapters. Thank you all!_

_I forgot to mention in last chapter, but the lyrics were from two wonderful songs by Alanis Morisette. **You oughta know** and **Everything **- check them out, it's highly recommended music._

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything you may recognize here._

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><p>Blaine drifts slowly to a kind of awaken state, with a jumble of questions nagging his brain from the first semi-conscious moment. He can't believe he's on a wonderful mattress, after three awful nights sleeping on the floor. How did that happen? Where is he? And who is in bed with him? What did they do? And what's his name?<p>

He yawns, unable to muffle it completely, when his arms are busy stretching, competing with his toes to grow a little longer for the occasion. It feels so good he just have to let out a prolonged moan in relief.

"God, you're noisy in the morning," the person next to him comments, and thus answers a few of Blaine's questions. Kurt's entirely hidden under the covers, but his voice is recognizable through anything. Seeing him also jolts the memory into high drive. He didn't have a lot to drink last night, particularly because he observed Kurt tumbling downhill with his alcohol, so he wanted to be levelheaded enough to help him if needed. Which Kurt had eventually needed. After puking his guts out, Blaine had taken him home to make sure nothing happened to him. Kurt's inebriated mind had been in the gutter, though, and Blaine had needed to fly to the bathroom for a moment to avoid his advances.

When Blaine came out of the bathroom earlier this morning, Kurt was fast asleep. Fortunately. Blaine had been hoping it'd happen, considering how out of it Kurt had been. It had almost been a relief. Blaine doesn't want random and meaningless with Kurt; he wants substantial and committing. Now that he lives in New York, they shouldn't fall in bed together so readily. He wants to do this right. Which means they have a lot of talking to do first.

He slept in boxers and undershirt, and tugs on his jeans before padding out on naked feet, giving Kurt some privacy. He's never been much of a morning person, and especially not after drinking. Blaine starts the coffee maker, knowing it's a requirement if he wants a serious and levelheaded conversation with his ex. He considers making breakfast for them, but doesn't feel comfortable rummaging the fridge. He hasn't been here for years, and every time he's hooked up with Kurt they've been in a hotel room. They don't have any established norms any longer for how to act in the other's living space.

The sound of curtains pulled to the side encourages him to turn around.

"Can I make us breakfast?"

Kurt looks at him with weary eyes, and Blaine's stomach sinks. Maybe Kurt doesn't want him around? Maybe Kurt expected him to vanish instantly?

"I desperately need a shower. Give me half an hour?" he finally says, leaning against and half hiding behind the bathroom door.

"Of course!" Blaine beams, choosing to interpret it as Kurt's approval of him staying.

"Help yourself to whatever," Kurt waves in the general direction of the fridge, before disappearing entirely behind the bathroom door.

After checking his options, Blaine picks up eggs and milk to make French toast.

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><p>"Thank you for cooking," Kurt smiles timidly, dabbing a napkin against his spotless lips. Breakfast has been silent, but not entirely uncomfortable. Blaine picks up his last blueberry, and pops it into his mouth. Then he gets up to carry the dishes to the kitchen sink. He starts filling it with hot water, but Kurt stops the water.<p>

"Leave it, I can do it later. We have some talking to do, don't we?"

Blaine nods, and within soon they are seated in opposite ends of the couch, cradling large mugs of coffee in their hands.

"So…"

"So?"

"New York."

"Yeah," Blaine nods, unable to stop a tiny smile from growing across his face. "It's pretty amazing, actually, being here."

"Seems kind of sudden, if you ask me," Kurt says shortly.

"I've… I've wanted to tell you for a long time, but I didn't know how."

"I'm sure there must be a song that would have expressed it for you," Kurt says, quirking an eyebrow teasingly, as if he's remembering something amusing.

"_Start spreading the news, I'm leaving today_," Blaine sings softly, and thrills at the sound of Kurt's laughter. It ends abruptly, though.

"You could have told me sometime during the wedding."

"I know. I wanted to. I didn't want to mess it up, though." He hadn't wanted to risk upsetting Kurt. He hadn't wanted to risk missing a chance to spend a last night with him, before new beginnings in New York. He hadn't wanted to put a damper on anything, everything. And it hadn't been easy to approach Kurt, when it for the longest time seemed as if he was consciously avoiding him during the reception.

"When did you move here?"

"On Tuesday."

"But you left for LA on Sunday."

"I guess I'll get some frequent flyer-points out of this summer," Blaine shrugs shyly.

"Wait, you've been in New York recently?"

"Two times during the summer, just quick in and out on the same day for my audition."

"Audition," Kurt repeats dumbly, as if it's a foreign expression. Which it shouldn't be for someone who's graduated from NYADA.

"And then my callback," Blaine adds shyly, still reeling with pride from landing a part like that, and wanting to gush about it to anyone who'll listen, but first and foremost he wants to tell Kurt. Because Kurt understands. The Kurt who Blaine knows, will understand what a milestone this is.

"Callback… What have you been doing these years anyway?"

That's perhaps the most hurtful question Kurt could ask. Revealing that he doesn't know what has kept Blaine busy for the last four-five years, means that Kurt hasn't cared sufficiently about him to ask around, talk about him with their old friends. Sure, Blaine kept his distance too, but he was still up to date about what everyone was doing, and he was happy for them when good things happened to people who used to be his close friends.

"I graduated from LAADA before summer," Blaine explains clinically.

"Yeah, yeah," Kurt waves him off, "I knew that. But how do you land a part in the Big Apple so quickly? You can impossibly have the same network. Do you know how many actors and artists get their paychecks from coffee bars and restaurants, and from the theatres they only get rejections?"

"I guess I got lucky."

Kurt snorts disbelievingly.

"Sure, parts are won on a lottery these days, it's a new concept they're trying instead of the old, boring focus on skills, talent, connections, timing and being the right fit."

Blaine can't help but smile at his sass.

"So, what kind of part did you get?"

"It's nothing major, it's not on Broadway or anything," Blaine says dismissingly. Kurt's stern look makes him continue. "Umm, it's a brand new play, but the producer is ambitious and hopes it can be the next big thing. It's a really good plot, I think, a satire and political commentary, it's a love story and it has great music, and I think the costumes can be really cool, although they're simply sketches at the moment, and…"

"Blaine, you're rambling. Q&A, okay?"

Blaine nods blushingly, why can't he be even a little composed around this young man?

"What is the musical called?"

"_Beeswax_."

"No way!"

"Way?"

"Blaine, everybody are talking about _Beeswax_. It's huge! Congrats!"

Blaine ducks his head. _Beeswax_ is set to the 1950s, with contemporary music, hair and costumes. The plot is flipping upside-down on everything, to make a political statement, obviously. The story is set to The American Town, with prominent segregation and discrimination. Being straight is sinful and a crime. Being white gives you less, if any, rights. Being a man is a disadvantage. It's the real life distorted, trying to show how ridiculous it is. Blaine is playing Johnny, best friend of Tommy. They are both white, and Blaine is dating this cute, black boy, which is a huge controversy in and of itself being a mixed couple – Blaine's character obviously can't be good enough to date for someone coloured. But then Tommy confides in him that he's straight. It ends with Blaine in jail, falsely accused of raping his boyfriend, and Tommy has to run from the city to escape an angry mob after being seen kissing a girl. Tommy founds an underground resistance movement, and it spreads to the jail where Blaine is, when one of Tommy's followers is arrested for handing out agitating pamphlets. Then there's an amusing big dance number, jail wards included, leading to a ridiculously simplified revolution. Tommy and Johnny lead the uprising to the city hall, where they storm the doors, catching the black, lesbian mayor with her pants down, literally, banging a white man. The play ends with a dance number, and a voiceover from the future telling them all how wonderful it is in 2020, with equal opportunities, rights and worth regardless of anything.

"It fits you," Kurt tilts his head. "Your hair must be so happy to be reunited with its old friend The Gel."

"Hardihar."

They sit in silence again, and it isn't simply the coffee that makes Blaine feel warm inside. Kurt knew he had been studying at LAADA. He wasn't entirely clueless, careless.

"How are you?" he asks Kurt softly. He needs to turn their conversations towards what he discovered last weekend.

"Good," he answers, too shortly, too quickly.

Blaine knows what Kurt is doing, he knows about work, career and NYADA, so he doesn't dwell with those topics for now. He wants to hear everything about Kurt's success from his own mouth, but that's for later. If only he knew how to address this topic… A topic Kurt might even already be aware of.

"So, seen the doctor lately?" he asks casually, but inwardly cringes. Not smooth. "Dance injuries? Body treating you well?"

"What are you really trying to say?"

Typically Kurt, knowing when Blaine is beating around the bush and avoiding the difficult.

"Kurt…" He places his coffee mug on the table, and turns towards Kurt, sitting cross-legged on the couch. He almost reaches out a hand for him, but in the last minute realizes Kurt probably doesn't want to hold his hand, so he pretends to scratch his knee instead. "I need to tell you something difficult, and I hate to bring it up, but it's crucial that I make sure you are aware of this."

"You're kind of freaking me out here, Blaine. Can you please get to the point?" Kurt is sitting with his arms wrapped around his torso, and he looks so young (because they are so old, soon 25 years and everything, retirement next) and vulnerable.

"Yeah, of course, sure," Blaine swallows. "Kurt, last weekend when we…" Kurt nods vigorously before Blaine can say anything more, and it is both adorable and a bit disturbing that they can have sex as if it doesn't mean anything, but Kurt can't say the words. "I noticed something that I hope a doctor has checked out, and if it isn't examined, you should make an appointment as soon as possible."

"What are you talking about?" Kurt looks scared now.

"Your… One of your testicles. I found a lump, and the actual testicle has shrunk from how I remember it." Blaine hears as he says it, how stalkerish it sounds, that he remembers so perfectly clear the size and shape of Kurt's balls. But once, he was allowed to worship that body, and maybe it's because your first always will be special, but he's enjoyed and memorized Kurt's body, it feels like coming home. But on Saturday it was as if someone had redecorated the living room without warning. When he went down on him, something was off. He'd spent a ridiculous amount of time fondling and touching his balls, until he found an answer. And ever after, he hasn't been able to stop thinking about it. And he needs to make sure that Kurt knows too.

The blank look on his face may be a sign that Kurt isn't aware.

"Kurt, have you noticed or felt anything?"

The young man shakes his head slowly.

"You know I never was very comfortable with… I don't often… I just get it done," he murmurs neon red.

Blaine's heart aches for him. Kurt was so insecure and uncomfortable about his body and with sex when they were teenagers. Considering how easily they've fallen together in bed the past years, Blaine assumed the baby penguin had grown up. But heated passion by some other's hands is perhaps easier than deliberately exploring yourself? He remembers how flustered Kurt was, whenever Blaine offhandedly would mention masturbating. And he remembers how awed Kurt had been, whenever he discovered that other parts of his body than his dick could give him pleasure and excitement. It was something Blaine had been honoured to show him, to explore together with him. It's a surprise, though, that Kurt five years down the road still isn't taking advantage of that knowledge when he's on his own.

It's also a surprise that someone with their own specific skincare regime isn't that aware of his body. But the young Kurt was never entirely confident in his own skin, and maybe he isn't there yet either. Blaine remembers how Kurt would avoid looking at himself in mirrors until he was dressed from top to toe. Funny how you'll remember the most random facts you haven't thought about in ages.

"Will you promise me to go see a doctor? It's probably nothing, but I've worried myself sick the last week, and it isn't diminishing."

"It's probably nothing," Kurt repeats, swallowing heavily. But he nods. "Sure, I'll make an appointment with my doctor. I need to renew my prescription for Ambien anyway," Kurt shrugs. He avoids Blaine's eyes as he takes a sip of his coffee.

Blaine decides he can't do more for now, and cradles the mug between his cold hands. Plastering on an enthusiastic smile, he turns the conversation in an entirely different direction.

"So, have you heard from Rachel's adventures in London lately?"


	6. The Return of Rachel

**It's Thursday, Thursday, gotta get down on Thursday... :D A new update, I hope you'll enjoy this too - and please take notice of my end note after this chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize in this chapter, except a genuine love for London.**

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><p>Kurt wraps his arms around his bent knees, pulling them closer to his chest. The thick blanket slides down from his slumped shoulders, but he is too numb to care. The coffee he mindlessly, automatically made for himself when he came home, is turning cold, standing untouched on the table.<p>

He knows it's irrational, stupid even, but he can't help but feeling exposed and violated. His body has never been an easy place to inhabit for him, and presenting it for someone else makes him feel vulnerable and out of control.

He doesn't mind being seen because of the fabulous outfits he puts together – he actually likes that kind of approval. But naked, he feels… Well, naked.

At first, he suppressed Blaine's plea to see a doctor. But it turned out to be difficult to ignore, when he realized that Blaine was back in his life in some capacity or other. When he went over to Mercedes for their weekly reality TV-marathon, Blaine had been there, hanging out with Sam. Wen Kurt met Elliot for lunch a few days later, his friend mentioned how he'd given Blaine a tour of the best record stores in the city. And when Artie invited them all to a party the next weekend, Blaine of course was there. He hadn't said anything, but the worried glances he kept throwing Kurt were deafening in and of themselves.

When Kurt came home that night, still buzzing from too much wine and hidden in the dark under the covers, he pulled down his pajama pants, and puffed hot air on his cool fingers, before touching himself further down than down there. He hadn't been there in some time, it never did anything for him when it was his own fingers he felt, so what was the point? But he tried to get reacquainted with that particular area of his body, using both hands to compare weight, texture, size and shape. His stomach fell when he realized his two testicles were far from as similar as they used to be.

So the next Monday he called his doctor, and got an appointment eight days later. Which was today. And the entire conversation had been humiliating.

Standing with his pants and underwear pulled down midthigh – because he had thought it would make him feel more comfortable than removing the garments entirely, stupid as he was – while a middle-aged woman wearing a latex glove that smelled of artificial chemicals pulled and prodded at his most private area. And then the awful conversation, where she scolded him for not doing monthly check-ups in the shower, and for not coming as soon as the suspicion of something being off had been aired. She asked him about family health history, and when he reluctantly mentioned his Dad's scare a few years prior with prostate cancer, she had looked disappointedly at him. And then she'd given a long rant about how Movember had become a thing for a reason, didn't he know it was about more than moustaches, and hadn't he seen the ads and merchandise for the upcoming breast cancer awareness-month?

And that's when Kurt had felt himself pale and get dizzy, because he hadn't dared thinking about the C-word, he had mainly focused on his deviating testicle, refusing to consider any plausible cause.

The doctor aggressively fired off questions, asking if he'd experienced any back pains, tenderness in pecks and nipples, swollen legs, pain downstairs, coughing, and the list went on. He answered "no" on most of her questions, but back home he can't stop thinking and worrying. His back had been aching, but why wouldn't it with the stress he had at work – that was the only reason, right? And he had been coughing the other day, but a mix of New York-smog and excessive singing without proper warming up can do that to you. And his feet had been so swollen he couldn't get his favourite boots on the other day, after five hours of dance rehearsal the day before. He may have felt a certain ache between his legs, but had chalked it up as blueballs, and then the wedding happened, and Blaine got it out of his system. He could rationalize every symptom, but did it mean it was the only potential answer?

God, he'll be in dire need of a manicure after all this stress and anxious wait.

The doctor had agreed that there was a lump in his left testicle. Blaine had said one of them was reduced, but it was the other way around – his left testicle has grown substantially larger than the other.

The first step to figure out what this is, the doctor recommended, was a broad STI test, along with a blood test to examine his hormonal level. She had said a lot more, but he couldn't understand half of it, and he was too humiliated to ask, just wanting to get out of there and away from her. He'd caught himself missing Carole, imagining how she could have helped him interpret the doctor's endless rant and ask the best follow up-questions.

But he did this alone, and he is going to do this alone, because he remembers the chilling worry and aching pain from when his Dad got his diagnosis, and he sure as hell ain't gonna tell anyone anything before he absolutely has to. If he has to. If. There's still a chance of an IF, although his doctor had called his testicle a "classical case". Lucky him.

Kurt is so lost in his own mind, he doesn't hear the heavy door being slid open.

"Honey, I'm home!"

The blanket hasn't even fallen to the floor when Kurt is out of the couch, running to greet his long gone roommate.

"God, I've missed you," he all but sobs into her shoulder, and holds Rachel tightly. She wraps her arms around him, and bless her heart, doesn't say anything, just hugs him all the way to his bones.

He finally realizes how ridiculous he's being, and lets go of her. Like a true gentleman, he offers to take her coat, and hangs it on their coat stand for her. Even if he made Rachel's bed and prepared her room for her yesterday, the knowledge about her return had completely vanished on his way to the doctor. But this is probably what he needs today. Rachel's been three months in London, and although it has its ups to live alone, he's missed her too. It's a big and cold loft when you're lonely.

"I desperately need a shower, the air-conditioning on the plane is atrocious," Rachel scrunches her nose. "I smell like… Fried strangers dipped in Mayo."

Kurt rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but it's awfully good to have her back. He's glad she's still reeling from London and travelling, and unable to question why he's home at this hour. He took the entire day off from work, and he did so by calling in sick this morning, faking a food poisoning. Telling about a doctor's appointment would only lead to questions he isn't willing to answer.

While Rachel is in the shower, he decides to make them a late lunch. It's still too early for dinner, but he hasn't been able to eat anything since breakfast, so a larger meal is probably part of the message his revolting stomach has been trying to tell him for the last few hours.

They sit across of each other by the kitchen table, and Rachel tells him all about her visit to Stratford-upon-Avon; the cradle of The Bard. She saw his childhood home, the theatre where his first plays were ever performed, the quaint buildings from his days, she had been rowing on the lake, and experienced an authentic performance with true British accents – it had of course been uttermost helpful for Rachel, to perfect her own accent as Eliza Doolittle.

They forego the dishes in favour of cuddling up on the couch and look through Rachel's pictures from her three months in London. She's posted some of them on Facebook, but that's not even half of them. Kurt may not use his profile there anymore, but Mercedes has kept him up to date, and showed him what she deemed absolutely necessary of Rachel's pictures.

"I have to pay attention to my reputation, and some of the pictures might not be what my fans want to associate me with," she explains as if it is obvious. She has an unfortunate tendency to befriend anyone who asks on Facebook, and her private life there is drowning in her professional life as a musical artist and touring star. Kurt had suggested she make a fan page, and keep her personal Facebook-page for family and close friends. It would make it easier to keep in touch with her, when karaoke night-invitations drown in praise and worship from overzealous fans.

She pulls up her laptop, and starts the picture viewer-program, adding commentary as the photos slide across the screen, now and then going back to a picture to add an anecdote. Kurt lets her voice and storytelling lull him into a serene calm, ignoring everything but Rachel's true fairytale. He's not even jealous of her, because she's worked so hard, and deserved this. And he knows she worked equally hard across the ocean, it's not as if she had the time and opportunity to go shopping on Oxford Street or visiting The Tower of London each day.

He watches tourist pictures, moments from backstage, her first fish'n chips, going out to a pub for a pint with her colleagues, all the experiences in Stratford-upon-Avon, and meeting Rowan Atkinson.

"Ooh," she suddenly squeals, "I bought you something. Hold on, it's in my luggage." She dances off to her room, humming something, and sounding so ridiculously happy. Kurt smiles fondly at her back, and randomly flips through her newest pictures. He already has an entire bulletin board full of postcards from her, sent from every sight she managed to visit properly and not just pass by during her hectic days. It's nice to see more pictures, though. London has always had its own magic appeal to him. He notices a handsome man next to Rachel in several of the pictures. He can't recognize him, though, and makes a mental note of asking her who it is. She sent him the playbill from her opening night as guest star, but Kurt doesn't think he was one of the photographed actors. In another picture, he has his arm wrapped around her, and something difficult churns in Kurt's stomach.

"Here it is!" she announces, dancing back to him with a ridiculously big wrapped present.

"Rachel, you didn't have to…"

"I know, but I wanted to. These are things that made me think of you."

He hugs her sideways, and she moves the laptop out of the way so he can open his gift. Carefully, he peels off the adhesive tape. The first item to fall out, is a pillow, and on it is printed the map of the tube station system in London. He traces a finger along the Circle Line, the Red Line, the Yellow Line, stopping at some of the more well-known stations. One day…

He smiles ruefully at the pillow, and checks the other things. She's gotten him a savings box shaped like the red telephone box, and he can't help his wide grin at the sight of it. He loves it! Next is a big ceramic Big Ben with a lid and filled with candy. Maybe it'll look sufficiently innocuous to be left alone, and not raided for cookies whenever they have visitors. There's even a teddy bear in a Beefeater-costume for him, and he has always been fond of cute boys in uniform. And lastly, she's gotten him a…

"Rachel!" Kurt shrieks scandalized, throwing the Union Jack-string at her. "Please don't tell me you actually thought of me when you saw that!"

"Someone's been single for far too long," she says cheekily, "and that one might change that."

"If," Kurt says with gusto, "and let me repeat that – IF anyone ever sees me in this, it will indeed mean I'm not single anymore, because it'll take approximately seventeen years of dating until I'd be comfortable enough to show myself in this… National napkin," he shivers.

Rachel makes a disbelieving sound, and nudges him with her shoulder.

"I bet seven years will suffice plenty," she winks. "I did buy you one more thing, but I was afraid it wouldn't survive the flight, I've seen how roughly some of the luggage is handled. And I didn't have room for it in my carry-on. But Hugh will bring it when he's visiting in less than four weeks."

"Well, now you got my curiosity peaked for several reasons. What more did you get me, what have I done to deserve all these clichéd gifts, and who the hell is Hugh?"

"I'm not ruining that surprise for you, thank you very much. But I only get the best for my bestest gay and favourite roommate," she smiles sweetly, and rests an arm around his shoulders, tugging him closer. "And about Hugh…"

She looks out of the window, as if she can see all the way to London.

"I think Hugh may be someone very, very special," she murmurs dreamily.

That particular statement rises loads of questions Kurt won't ask. He has always been the cynical one, the realistic (pessimistic, says Rachel) one, the one with his feet solidly planted on the ground, the anchor that prevents his friends from floating too high. But Rachel hasn't been in a serious relationship since Brody, and then after him almost getting back with Finn again, brutally destroyed when he passed away. It took time for Rachel to get over him and mourn his death. This is the first time in literally years that Kurt has seen her look like this, not one single New Yorker taking her out on a date has managed to create that kind of smile. So he's not going to take that away from her yet.

"So, what's been going on here lately?" Rachel asks happily, shuffling to sit closer to him.

His stomach feels cold and heavy, and all the fear he's been suppressing all day wells up, trying to force its way out of him. He has to breathe deeply, and closes his eyes, because he can't cry now.

"What is it, Kurt?" she asks worriedly.

"Umm," he swallows. "You'll never guess who's moved to our city."

"You look as if you're talking about a ghost," Rachel smiles hesitantly, trying to ease his mood. Kurt blinks again, several times. The ghost from his past haunting him now, is his Dad's cancer scare. In comparison, having to live in the same city as his first love, is anything but scary. "Oh my God," Rachel gasps, "it is Blaine? Blaine is living in New York?"

Kurt nods minutely, glad that Rachel realizes how difficult that might be to him, and thus not looking for anything else causing his blues.

"Oh Kurt," she hums, hugging him tightly, "and he's still friends with Sam, is he?"

"Sam asked him to be his best man," Kurt says dryly.

"Mercedes!" Rachel exclaims again, "I can't believe the nerve some people have, to do something big like that when I'm out of the country," she grins. "We'll have to invite her over one day; I need to see that rock in better lighting than the picture she posted on Facebook."

Just like that, Rachel is musing wedding arrangements, and successfully gets Kurt's mind off of anything related to his ex-boyfriend or testicles.

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><p><strong>I'd like to remind my readers that I am not a medical professional, so anything written in this story of medical information is based on my research, and with a touch of author's creativity when needed to make it fit with my vision for this story. Please don't take the medical aspects in this story as correct science. I've done my best to make it realistic, and I've done a lot of research, but it can't compensate for a doctor's degree ;)<strong>


	7. The Tentative Peace

Blaine feels like some kind of stalker, sitting on a two days old newspaper on the dirty floor outside of Kurt's loft apartment. But he hasn't replied to his texts or answered his phone calls, he hasn't been over at Mercedes' when Blaine's visited Sam, and he can't help but feel that Kurt is avoiding him. But Blaine needs to know. So he sits here, waiting, hoping Kurt will come home soon. He had tried to grasp a certain understanding of the young man's schedule by grilling Sam, but that was one clueless boy. He knew Kurt were in rehearsals for something-something, and that was about all he knew. Blaine hopes he'll get the chance to learn more about how Kurt fills his hours and life these days, he wants to get to know Kurt again.

"Blaine?"

He looks up in the direction of the voice, and can practically feel his face light up at the sight of Rachel stepping out of the elevator. He scrambles to his feet, and meets her hesitantly, not quite sure where they stand. It's been so long since they last met. And he doesn't know what Kurt may have said, or if she knows what went down at Coach Beiste's wedding. Or any other wedding, for that matter.

There's no halfway or hesitance over Rachel, though, and she quickly closes the gap to hug him tightly.

"Come in, I have some British tea you need to try. It's a reason why they drink it so often over there," she smiles, and unlocks the door. Blaine braces himself, and then follows her inside.

"It's good to see you again," he says warmly, as they sit down on the couch. "London seems to have treated you well."

"It was amazing, Blaine," she sighs. "It was a once in a lifetime-opportunity. For the Londoners," she quirks an eyebrow and grins slyly. Blaine laughs with her. "But you saw the pictures on Facebook, I noticed your sweet comments. Are you going to tell me why you're lurking around my place? I started carrying maze in my purse after an overly devoted fan started bringing flowers to the loft every Tuesday," she grins, but there's a serious undertone in her voice.

"I'm not some crazy fan stalking you, I swear," Blaine smiles, raising two arms disarmingly in front of himself. "I was hoping to see Kurt. He, umm, he seems reluctant to answer his phone. Unless it's broken."

"No. No, his phone isn't broken," Rachel smiles sadly. "He told me you had moved here. It sounded like it had been a surprise to him."

"Good surprise or bad surprise?" Blaine chuckles humourlessly, and rubs his neck awkwardly.

"Both, Blaine. You were his best friend and his first love, his first heartbreak and his first hook-up. Of course it's both."

Blaine somehow manages to both pale and blush. He'd been so focused on looking forward to seeing Kurt again, he had forgotten to consider if the other might be feeling differently about catching up like friends.

"I hate to show up unannounced, but I feared it was my only hope of talking with him. Do you happen to know when he'll be home?"

Rachel looks sadly at him for a long moment.

"He should be home within the next hour; they had some visiting potential sponsors to impress today, so he had to stay a bit longer."

Blaine is aching to ask Rachel what Kurt is doing, how Kurt is doing, but it wouldn't be right to weasel information out of her, and he'd much more prefer to hear it straight from the source.

"Okay, I can go for a walk, I remember the park close by, or I'm sure I can find somewhere with a decent coffee menu."

"Blaine, don't be stupid, of course you're staying. I need to hear everything about _Beezewax_. Do you want cookies? Kurt had one of his stress baking-fits yesterday, so we have too much sugar in this house. The damage it can do to my vocal chords…"

Blaine knows better than to be offended by her apparent lack of concern for his vocal chords – he knows she'd explain that her instrument is so much more delicate and fragile than his. Instead, he focuses on the implications of Kurt stress baking. Does it mean he has been to the doctor? Has he been tested? Has he gotten any results? Or is he procrastinating everything away?

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><p>Rachel is in the middle of regaling him with a tale of some guy named Hugh trying to crack a smile on the stony faces of the guards protecting the British King William, when the heavy door is slid open, and Kurt's voice comments how they need to buy lube for the hinges.<p>

From the way Rachel looks, she's holding back a really crude comment to that.

"Oh…"

Blaine's eyes meet Kurt's, and it's obvious that this is a bad surprise.

"You know what, I think there's a hardware store 17 blocks from here or so, I'll go see if they sell lube. Kurt, I'm sure you can keep my guest entertained while I'm gone."

With flourish, Rachel is quickly out of the apartment, and Kurt is still rooted to the floor.

"You didn't return my calls," Blaine says in way of apology, but regrets it instantly. It reminds him too much of old explanations, accusations, desperation. He wanted a clean slate to start fresh from, and not to drag old ghosts with him. "I worried about your…" Testicle. Fear of doctors. Happiness. "…health."

"I'm perfectly healthy," Kurt bites, and strides towards the kitchen corner, where he starts the coffee machine for a glass of latte.

"I just want to know if you've been to a doctor yet," Blaine pleads, following him on hesitant feet.

"Blaine," Kurt says warningly, turning around from the counter, and bores his icey eyes into him. "I thank you for making me aware of your concern. I'll handle it from here. You have done more than is expected, and you can consider yourself relieved from any kind of responsibility in this. Oh, and all my STI tests came out negative, so you don't have to worry about our wedding night."

Blaine can see Kurt visibly cringing at his choice of words.

"Kurt, it doesn't work like this. I don't stop worrying simply because you tell me to. I care a lot for you."

"You don't even know me anymore," Kurt huffs, gulping down a large sip of his coffee even if it must be scolding hot.

"And I'd like to change that."

Kurt holds his eyes until it gets uncomfortable, and Blaine looks away, swallowing with difficult.

"Why?"

He looks back at Kurt with a sliver of hope in his heart.

"Because once, you were my best friend. Because I miss that, and hoped we could maybe be at least good friends again. Because I've just moved to this city without really knowing anyone who isn't also your friends, and I don't want to make it difficult to hang out with mutual friends. Because even if it's been a few years, I believe some of the old Kurt is still there, and I care a lot for him, and would like to know how he's doing."

"Water and the bridge, Blaine."

Blaine sighs, and runs his hands tiredly across his face. This isn't going as planned at all, and he is so off script it's ridiculous. He's an actor, he should be able to improvise a good conversation, but this isn't some play, rather a real life-exam, and he's flunking badly.

"Look, I know I hurt you. I broke your heart and your trust, and I live with that regret every single day."

Kurt's face goes stoney as he talks, and that's not what he wanted to achieve, far from it.

"I'm not asking you to forgive me; I gave that idea up long time ago. I'm just asking, for old times' sake, to be let in just enough to know that you are okay. Because I truly, deeply care. You don't owe me anything, far from it. But… Have you even talked with anyone about this? I already know the background story. If you need someone to vent to, I'm here. I'd be your friend if you'd let me."

"We haven't had a proper conversation in years, Blaine. You really believe we'll start catching up by talking about my deviant testicle?"

"Well, we never were good with smalltalk," Blaine smiles ruefully. "Remember what we talked about the first time we met?" Blaine doesn't mean to be nostalgic or sentimental, but it's so easy to fall back to some of their shared past.

"I asked for directions," Kurt says shortly, but the way the corner of his lip twitches reveals how he's taken Blaine's point, albeit reluctantly.

"Two strangers sit down for coffee, and you disclose about being bullied."

"Four strangers, and I was petrified of being beaten for spying. Wes looked scary!"

Kurt turns halfway towards the coffee maker.

"Is it still a medium drip?"

"You remember my coffee order," Blaine smiles fondly.

"Yeah, well, that's what brainwashing does to you," Kurt rolls his eyes, but there's no malice in his gaze, and pushes two of the buttons.

"I've been to a doctor. As I said, I got my STI results back."

"And the others?" Blaine asks carefully, so, so grateful for Kurt opening up even the slightest.

"Still waiting," Kurt says shortly. "I should expect an answer by the beginning of next week," he adds less sharply.

He finishes setting up a tray, and brings it to the kitchen table, where he gestures for Blaine to sit down. Blaine takes the offered mug, adding a sprinkle of the cinnamon Kurt has set out, and watches how Kurt is picking out three sugar cubes from the jar. He lines them up perfectly on a row, then builds a pyramid with them, before stacking one on top of the other. With a swift motion, he grabs them all with one hand, and plops them unceremoniously into his own mug, where he twirls the spoon around and around until the sugar must have dissolved at least twice. Blaine's eyes move from Kurt's hand to his face, and he notices the boy is counting silently. He stops, and then moves the spoon counter-clockwise, still counting. Blaine takes his other hand, resting on the table and tapping a restless rhythm.

"It'll be okay," he reassures him. "It'll be okay."

Now that he thinks about it, he notices that Kurt is wearing an awful lot of blue today. It's not easy to predict what kind of fashion style Kurt adheres to these days, but he remembers how he insisted on wearing blue when Burt was sick, and furthermore he made everyone around him dress in blues too.

Kurt's blue eyes meet his, and they shine as if he's holding back tears. Blaine cradles his open hand between his two palms.

"You'll be okay," he repeats.

Kurt nods minutely, disbelievingly.

"So, Rachel said something about how you needed to impress some potential sponsors today. Did you blow them away?" Blaine smiles charmingly, to ease the tension and hopefully make Kurt feel better.

Kurt quirks an eyebrow at him over the rim of his glass.

"I've never made it a habit to go on stage without giving it my best."

"I could have said that," Blaine murmurs. "But what are you doing on that stage?"

"It's…" Kurt shakes his head and looks away.

"Does Burt know what you do?"

"What kind of question is that?" Kurt splutters indignantly.

"You looked embarrassed about telling me, and I thought if your own father doesn't know, it might be stripping or penis puppetry," Blaine grins, and Kurt chokes on his coffee. He coughs a few times before he can talk.

"No, Dad is very aware of what I'm doing, and I wouldn't mind if he were in the audience."

"That's good," Blaine says calmly, but maintains eye contact with him, until Kurt sighs loudly.

"Do you remember how we used to dream about Broadway, leading roles, glamour, private drivers, red carpet-suits designed specifically for us, penthouse apartments, mingling with the stars, offering advice to the up'n coming…"

"I do," Blaine smiles fondly, thinking about all their conversations at the Lima Bean, in the private of their rooms, in the Navigator while driving around to find a secluded area to make out… "We were young; it's probably a nature law to dream big in high school."

"Sometimes I just feel like a failure. I wanted to prove how I'm not some average Lima Loser, but what do I have to show for? Rachel is playing a lead role, touring in London, she's constantly double-booked with invitations, and she's even been on the Ellen DeGeneres-show. I want to meet Ellen," Kurt whines. "And the only reason that Rachel lives with me, is because she's a horrible cook. She could easily afford something on her own. And sometimes I suspect she merely stays so that I won't have to find somewhere else to live. And what do I have to show for?"

"I wouldn't know, because you haven't told me," Blaine smiles crookedly, and Kurt rolls his eyes at him.

"My Junior year I befriended this amazing girl with the craziest ideas. She wanted to gather a theater troupe solely doing feministic or alternative approaches to traditional plays. I was still dreaming of the Phantom, or Mr. Mistoffelees, or Mr. Smith in the musical-version of Matrix. But I was also given a reality check, when I saw the older students graduating to waiter-jobs. So Edina finally managed to talk me into joining her project – I thought it would look good on my résumé and give me some experience, at least," Kurt smiles and shakes his head. He takes a large sip of his coffee. "As if One Three Hill wasn't enough work after NYADA and my shifts at Callbacks."

"You were always good at time management and finding the extra energy when something caught your passion," Blaine smiles fondly, thinking about the fire that fuelled Kurt when he was driven and determined to be student president while managing his dad's campaign for Congress, doing a stellar Officer Krupke, fighting for solos in Glee, and keeping ahead in his classes.

"Yeah, yeah," Kurt waves him off.

"So you're still with that troupe, then?"

"Yes, we're trying to find sponsors for a gender-bent version of Les Mis, portraying Marius as female and Cosette as male, and so on."

"Sounds interesting," Blaine nods eagerly, "I can imagine changing the gender does something to the characters."

"We do some rewriting, do a lot of historical research, try to get into the heads of the characters and what would be done differently if they were the other gender. We do a lot more than just changing the names," Kurt explains eagerly. "And we of course also piss off some people on the way, who think we are disrespecting Victor Hugo and ruining one of the biggest classics."

"As if that would stop you."

"Never," Kurt scoffs.

"It sounds amazing! You get to do your own thing, you can use some of the political fuel you have in you, and you can shape a new path," Blaine gushes enthusiastically. "I'm sorry if I'm overstepping, but you mentioned sponsors – do you earn enough to pay the bills?"

"No, we're still trying to get a foot under us in the off-off-off-off-Broadway segment. I'm still auditioning for bigger plays with more predictable economy. One Three Hill has paid concerts now and then, and there's always tips for us by the end of a set. But I'm still working shifts at the diner to cover rent and food."

"Sounds busy."

"It is. So you see how I'm nothing more than a Lima Loser, having to juggle three different jobs while auditioning for a fourth. That's as far from making it as you can come."

"I beg to differ," Blaine says sternly, and leans back in his chair. "I see a young man who recently graduated from a prestigious school. I see a young man who works hard to reach his dreams. I see a young man who has realized that life isn't over even if his goals weren't reached by the age of 21 or 25, and doesn't let it stop him. I see a driven, energetic, ambitious young man, who is building his own troupe by both doing business, writing scripts, playing roles…"

"Creating costumes," Kurt adds coyly.

"Of course you do," Blaine smiles, knowing he must look far more dopily than acceptable in front of your ex. "Are you happy? Like, truly happy?"

Kurt gives him the courtesy of thinking before answering.

"Yes. I'm mostly happy."

"I'm glad," Blaine murmurs.

"But Rachel…"

"But Rachel had some luck; she was in the right place at the right time. Talent can take you so far, but you need timing too. Don't compare yourself to her."

"I see LA didn't rid you of your Yoda tendencies."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Blaine smiles smugly.

"Of course you don't," Kurt huffs, but there's amusement in his breath

They sip their coffee in comfortable silence for a while.

"It was good talking with you again. I've been curious about what the elusive Hummel is doing in the Big Apple. You kind of disappeared from Facebook…"

Kurt stares at the floor for a long time, and when he talks he won't meet Blaine's eyes.

"I couldn't stand logging on, facing all the memories, being reminded of everything…" he all but whispers. "I couldn't deal with it. I haven't been online ever since. And with my crazy schedules, it's not as if I have a lot of time to sit yapping on Facebook either."

Blaine's throat tightens, and he feels awful for how his stupid, stupid, stupid time with Eli is still affecting Kurt.

"_Sorry_ is such an empty phrase," he murmurs choked. "What I did is unforgiveable. I wish I could go back in time. I'd…"

"Don't," Kurt stops him. "Just… Don't."

Blaine nods, staring at the table.

"I should go, I need some proper rest before heavy choreography tomorrow morning," he excuses himself. He takes his empty mug to the kitchen counter, before heading towards the sliding door.

Kurt leans against the doorjamb, and worries his bottom lip. Blaine gives him a finale look, before stepping into the elevator. He doesn't know if he'll ever be here again. He doesn't know if Kurt will let him in the slightest.

He doesn't want to risk crying like some teenager, so he studies his shoes, trying to remember when he last gave them a proper polish.

"Blaine?"

His head jerks up at the sound of his name.

"I forgave you a long time ago," Kurt smiles sadly.

The elevator doors close, and Blaine's stomach is suddenly at war with itself.


	8. The Breakdown

**Hello dear followers! I feel like some kind of deity when I use those words... :p Anyway, I'm so glad for the attention and feedback I've gotten for this story, so I hope you'll enjoy this chapter too. Feel free to let me know if you do or don't like it, either way :)**

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><p>Patience has never been Kurt's strongest force. Waiting for the test results to come back is his own personal hell, and he deals with it the best way he knows – he throws himself at his work. He meets up with Edina to show her some rewrites he did one sleepless night, he takes up more shifts at the diner, he summons Elliot and Dany for an extra rehearsal, he lets Rachel give him a vocal lesson in preparation for an upcoming audition, and he spends three hours on a bar to bar-walk to sweet-talk any willing manager into letting them play.<p>

When he finally gets the much dreaded phone call, he's been kidnapped by Mercedes for some retail therapy, because she thinks he's working too much and not having enough fun. Fortunately, Mercedes is far away in a cubicle trying on her first wedding dress – because wedding preparations are all she can think of these days. He can't exactly blame her, he would be excited too if the love of his life wanted to spend the rest of his life with him. Married by 21? Yeah, he's four years late for that, and still counting. But at least he can make sure that Mercedes is the most stunning bride New York has ever seen.

Rather, hopefully he can focus on that as soon as he gets this mess with his testicle behind him. He tries to pretend like nothing, as if it is a perfectly normal phone call he's listening to hidden away among veils and tiaras, while his doctor tells him to come in to his office the day after tomorrow. Kurt's not stupid, he knows what that means. Negative test results are given over the phone, or you're called in for a serious conversation about the positive results. Fuck. He pockets the phone, all the while ignoring a new text from Blaine.

He's teary-eyed when Mercedes walks slowly out of the dressing room, and she awws at him.

"It's like a fairytale," she sighs, reverently touching the silky drape on the dress. Kurt simply nods, and moves behind her both to see how the dress accentuates her shoulders and to compose himself.

Seven dresses later, he's back on the street rushing towards the diner for an extra shift he picked up. The sponsors are still on the fence about the gender-swapped Les Mis, and he needs to save up if he's going to afford flight tickets to Ohio for Christmas. He knows his dad would happily buy them for him, but he's 25 years old. He takes pride in being independent.

"Kurt, customer at table 17, can you take his order?" Günther asks, shooing him in the right direction as soon as he steps out from the wardrobe. Kurt gets his pad and pen ready, and greets the customer the usual way, before he can look up.

"I hear the strawberry milkshake is pretty fantastic," the warm timbre of his ex-boyfriend's voice surrounds him like a stifling blanket.

"Hi," Kurt says dumbly.

"Hi, I was hoping you'd be here."

"You seem determined to make sure your paths cross mine."

"I wouldn't have to, if you would answer my texts."

"I've been busy," Kurt talks to the notepad.

"I just need to know if you're okay."

At that, Kurt looks at Blaine again, and tries to give him his most stern look.

"Blaine, I'm at work, I don't have time for personal business."

"Tell your boss I was a difficult customer who couldn't make his mind up," Blaine shrugs easily. "Have you heard from your doctor?"

"Yes, I have, do you want any food with the milkshake?" He lifts the pen, ready to note down his order.

"What did she say? Is the apple pie any good?"

"She said it's none of your goddamn business. And it's okay. Mine's better, but what can you do?"

Blaine sighs audibly, and rubs his hands across his face as if it'll help him convince Kurt to talk.

"Please, Kurt," Blaine murmurs. "I can't sleep properly until I know. Please let me know. I just…" Blaine looks defeated. "I'd like a slice of the apple pie, thank you," he murmurs sadly, sighing as he slumps back in his seat.

"Do you want cream with that?"

"No, thank you," he mumbles, hiding his face in his hands.

Seeing him this sad ignites an ache in Kurt's stomach. For all the conflicting and messed up emotions he's felt towards his ex, he's never wanted to hurt him. He's never wanted to wipe that perpetual smile off of his face or extinguish the fire in his eyes. He's just wanted to be left alone, to mend his heart and protect himself for more pain. He didn't expect or intend to drag Blaine with him through anything bad. It's **his** testicle. Blaine should enjoy his first major part, he should focus his energy on rehearsals and costume fittings, he should embrace everything New York has to offer. Not waste precious sleep on what must be merely one of several fabulous exes he's left in his charming wake.

Kurt looks up from the rough tulip he's doodled on the paper.

"I'm seeing her in two days. For a talk. Which is code for bad news," Kurt says coldly, because he can't afford to take it in, he can't risk breaking down at work.

Blaine must have some kind of sixth sense, because he doesn't say anything, he just looks devastated at him, and touches his elbow lightly.

They don't exchange any more words until Blaine pays and gets ready to leave.

"Do you want me to go with you? I'm sure I could get out of rehearsals."

"Oh my God, Blaine, no, I'm a big boy. Honestly, my ball and I will cope."

"The offer still stands, though. You can call me, anytime. I'm here for you." Blaine looks intently at him for a minute, and it looks as if he wants to say something more, but instead he shakes his head in defeat, and leaves the diner without uttering a word.

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><p>The late September rain pours down, soaking Kurt to the skin, because of course he was too tired this morning to remember his fateful umbrella. He'd been tossing and turning in bed, thinking so loudly that not even his trusted Ambien could lull him to sleep.<p>

To make it even worse, Dr. Larson had told him to come in at 15:00, her last time slot of the day, to make sure they had "time to talk". So he had the entire day to work himself up for that conversation. He needed to get out of the apartment, so he had spent a few hours in the library doing research on revolution-appropriate dresses from the era of the French revolution, and then he visited the fashion district to look at fabrics. But his heart and head hadn't been entirely in it, and the day had mostly been a waste of time. He had ended up arriving at her office early, sitting in the waiting room for more than 40 minutes while flipping stressed and distracted through old magazines without really noticing what the articles were about. When Dr. Larson had called him in, she shook his hand and gave him that look he recognized from the doctor appointments his dad had both after his heart attack and during his close encounter with prostate cancer – the look that stayed on the doctor's face until he had been declared safe and healthy again. The Professional Pity-Expression.

She had greeted him, asking about his day and saying something about the weather, but he hadn't been able to focus on anything but the stack of papers on her otherwise tidy desk.

"We've gotten the results from your blood tests back," she had said gravely, and Kurt had already known the answer. When she shoved a bunch of pamphlets across the desk towards him, he had had to suppress a smile. It had reminded him too much of Mrs. Emma Schuester, former Pillsbury, and all the hours spent in her office getting well-meaning advice and sometimes misleading guidance.

He had flipped through the first pamphlets, but all the words of disease and cancer and coping freaked him out, and he had quickly shoved the papers to the bottom of his book bag.

"So what happens now?" he'd croaked out.

"The blood tests confirm that you have cancer, but we still don't know to which extent. So I'm booking an ultrasound for you. I also think you should see a specialist instead of me, so I'm transferring you to an oncologist."

Then she'd rattled off statistics about recovery and expected life span, and other scary facts and numbers he hadn't wanted to relate to. He didn't even know how serious this was, how much of his body the cancer had conquered.

Numb and overwhelmed, he had left his doctor's office, and decided to walk home instead of taking the subway. Hopefully, the outdoors would clear his mind.

It didn't.

It drenched his body, pouring down as if Puck's ancient namesake had built a second ark. The loft apartment in Bushwick has never seemed so far away. Even if he's only a block from home or so. But his clothes are clinging uncomfortably to his skin, and sure, he's used to wearing tight jeans, but not like this. His shoes are heavy with water, and he can feel how pruney his toes are getting. Is it possible to drown cancer tumors?

Finally he's home, only the longest elevator ride in the world separating him from his bed. The metal door slides open more easily now that Rachel got it lubed up, and Kurt appreciates it – he literally has no strength for anything strenuous like pushing difficult doors to the side now. He leaves the possibly ruined shoes by the door, and doesn't care about the footprints his wet socks are leaving in his trail. Behind his partition curtain, he peels off every single item, leaving them in a pile of drowned fabrics, puts on a pair of dry underwear, gives up finding anything else to wear, and climbs into his bed. He pulls the covers up to his nose, and closes his eyes, hoping sleep will show him mercy soon.

When he drifts back to consciousness, it's darker in his corner of the world. Fittingly, as his mind feels darker too.

He can hear Rachel's voice through the curtain; stupid piece of fabric that is neither sufficiently soundproof nor esthetically appealing. It doesn't sound as if she's rehearsing lines, though. He strains to hear her better.

"I don't know what's going on. He's been distant lately, and when I came home he was sleeping – and his clothes were _on the floor_! Mercedes is worried too. We've tried to be here for him, distract him from whatever is troubling him, and show him that we're listening whenever he wants to talk. I don't know what might have happened while I was in London…"

She sounds so frustrated, and Kurt feels guilty for affecting her with his issues. He should be able to act better than that. He wonders who she's talking with, though. Maybe she's on the phone with Santana?

As she often does when she's emotional, her voice loses pitch and climbs up an octave, and it almost hurts his ears when she continues.

"I don't know what to do, he's never shut me out like this before. I feel so useless. Please try to help him, you're my last resort…"

He should probably let her know he's awake, but he just can't stomach the idea of talking. Or getting out of bed. Or facing people, really.

It sounds as if she finishes the conversation, and soon after he hears the door slide open and then shut again. Good. He's alone again.

He rolls around, his back to the curtain, and closes his eyes in the hope of sweet, sweet sleep taking him away from reality for a while.

The curtains rustle as if being pushed carefully to the side, and his stomach churns in disappointment. He really thought Rachel left. The mattress dips behind him, and a hesitant hand is placed on his shoulder.

"Just leave me alone, Rachel," he whispers hoarsely.

"I wouldn't have to stalk you like this if you'd answer when I text you," a voice whispers, and Kurt turns around in surprise, staring at Blaine wide-eyed. "Rachel let me in. She's worried about you," he murmurs, absentmindedly rubbing a hand over his covered up shoulder.

"Tests came out positive," he croaks, and the magic words finally let his tears out, trickling down his cheeks slowly at first, as if they aren't entirely sure they are allowed after being held back for so long, but within soon the tears and sobs have hijacked his body.

"God, Kurt," Blaine exhales sadly, and lies down next to him, pulling him tightly in his arms against his chest. The covers slide down from his shoulder, startling Blaine, and he jumps back as if Kurt's body scolded him. "I'm so sorry, I didn't realize you're naked," he squeaks frantically.

"You fucked me a month ago," Kurt laughs and cries. "Can you please just hold me?"

Blaine immediately scoots closer again, wrapping him up in his arms. One hand cradles the back of his head, gently steering it towards the crook of his neck, and the other hand is resting securely on his lower back. He doesn't say anything, and neither does Kurt. They just lie there until Kurt's run out of tears.

"What happens now?" he eventually asks carefully.

"I have no idea. She used all this alien words, I didn't understand half of it. She'll set me up with a specialist, but I think I have to do more tests. I don't know," Kurt sighs.

"You shouldn't go alone to these appointments. You need someone with you to take notes and remind you of the questions you wanted to ask," Blaine says fondly.

"Gee, Blaine, I'll see if I can fit a PA into my budget," Kurt rolls his eyes.

"Don't be like that, Kurt," Blaine answers seriously. "You have friends. You don't have to do this alone," he says and brushes a hand through Kurt's messy hair. "I'd help you if you let me."

Kurt doesn't say anything. It's easier to just be silent when you don't know the answer.

"I brought cheesecake. Do you think that might persuade you to get out of bed?"

"Perhaps," Kurt admits.

"Why don't you get dressed, and I'll prepare the cake. It will be served in the living room."

"Not comfort food in bed?" Kurt asks petulantly, pouting exaggeratedly.

"Maybe next time," Blaine smiles timidly, brushes his lips against his forehead, and rolls out of bed. They both ignore the implications of perhaps needing comfort food again in a not so distant future.

Kurt waits until Blaine is completely out of his "room", before he crawls out from under the covers, still only in his underwear. He rummages through the furthest corner of the bottom drawer in his dresser, and pulls out the most undignified outfit he has. Usually he'd be more concerned with impressing his ex, reminding him what he's missing out on, but today he simply doesn't give a shit. Blaine will have to accept him regardless of everything today, bedhead and lazy outfit included. So he pulls on thick wool socks that Finn's grandmother knitted for him the first Christmas they spent together as a family, shapeless sweatpants he managed to be given during his short stint with football at McKinley, and a faded t-shirt from his dad's garage.

He regrets how he treated his clothes earlier. They haven't done anything to upset him, so he moves them from the floor, and hangs them over his office chair and bed-end to dry.

When he finally peaks his head through the partition, it should be weird seeing Blaine puttering around in their kitchen as if he's part of the inventory, a frequent visitor, an extended household-member. In reality, he's only been here a couple of times.

He's placed two plates with generous cheesecake-slices on the table by the couch, and he turns around with two steaming mugs, smiling shyly at him.

"I thought maybe we could watch a DVD?"

"I'd like that," Kurt agrees. It gives them a good reason to not talk. So he sits down on the couch, placing a pillow in his lap, and offers Blaine to choose their movie.

They end up watching _Sound of Music_, and Kurt knows Blaine never was as enthusiastic about the musical as Kurt is, so he suspects he chose it for him. It doesn't stop Blaine from humming along to the songs, even harmonizing with Kurt on a few of them, though.

When the movie ends, Kurt offers to get them more coffee, but Blaine says he has to go home, and looks honestly sad about it.

"I have an early appointment with Elliot to check out one of the secondhand markets for old gramophone records, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be, I'm glad you enjoy the city. Thank you for the cake." And everything else.

"Any time."

Blaine hovers by the door, as if he wants to say something. It's not the first time it feels as if Blaine is searching for his words.

"Please keep me updated, Kurt," he says, but Kurt just knows that wasn't what he was thinking about saying. "I know we're not exactly friends, but I'm the only one who knows, so you can take advantage of that. You don't have to disclose to anyone else, if it's too soon."

"Thank you," Kurt murmurs.

"I… I feel awful for making you aware of all of this," he whispers, awkwardly gesturing towards Kurt's crotch.

"I'm pretty sure you didn't give me cancer, Blaine," Kurt says sternly.

"Still. I never wanted to add more burdens to your life."

"Blaine… I'll let you know when I get an appointment with the oncologist."

"Thank you," Blaine smiles relieved. He ducks his head, looks briefly up at Kurt again, bites his lip, and then smiles shyly. "Thank you."

Kurt doesn't close the door until the elevator takes Blaine out of sight. Then he walks aimlessly around in the apartment; lifting a candle to brush off dust, pinch off a dead flower on an orchid, skimming through a few books to see if he might want to read something, flipping through a few DVDs Rachel bought from London without anyone catching his interest. He flips the throw pillows, changes the tablecloth, and cleans the plates and mugs from when they had cake. Finally, he sinks down in the couch, and decides staring at the ceiling is an underrated pastime. He lies there until Rachel returns.

She smiles carefully at him, walking slowly towards him.

"You're up."

"I am." Kurt sits up to give her room to sit down.

"Did you talk with Blaine?" She sits down next to him.

"I did."

"Good." She leans her head on his shoulder. "Do you want to make cookies with me later, perhaps?"

"Yeah, I think I might."

She weaves her fingers through his, and he lets out his breath.


	9. The Realization

**It's Thursday, which means it's almost weekend and I'm going to a party tonight - but not before providing this story with the weekly update - I hope you'll enjoy it!**

**Warnings: There is talk about Finn's death in this chapter, brief mentioning of how it happened, and the grief and sadness for those left behind.**

**And again I want to remind you that I am not a doctor, so any medical mistakes or oddities are so-called artistic liberties, even if I've done my research and tried to make this believable.**

**Reminder: I haven't seen anything from season 6 of Glee, and am perfectly spoiler free - please respect my wish to remain so.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

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><p>Being around Rachel is unnerving, with how she's staring at him. No matter what he does in their apartment, he can feel her eyes on him. Ever since his last visit to the doctor, where he got everything confirmed and everything questioned, she's been keeping an eye on him. He's still not sure if Blaine showed up on his own initiative, or if she called him, but he feels confident that Blaine hasn't told his roommate anything. The combination of her worried eyes and lack of vocal approach reassures him of that. If she had even an inkling about what's going in, he has no doubt she would have vocalized it somehow by now. Despite of everything, it warms his heart that Blaine can be trusted. It's far from a surprise, he would never have imagined that the honourable Warbler would be anything but trustworthy. But it feels… It just feels a lot, to realize that Blaine respects Kurt's wishes like that.<p>

And if he wasn't exposed to Rachel's scrutiny several times each day, he would be certain that his health situation would remain something between Blaine and him. But Rachel is on a mission, and that is one scary Berry. So far his strategy has been to pretend he doesn't notice her evaluating looks and unspoken questions. But he isn't stupid, and Rachel is aware of that. Of course he notices. Of course she knows he does. It's just a matter of time, and then there will be a confrontation. The question is who will give in first.

He hadn't expected "time" to be a matter of merely a few hours, though. But Rachel corners him in the evening, so early that he can't use bedtime as an excuse to escape, but so late that he won't start on any projects at this hour. He's relaxing on the couch with a cup of herbal tea, curtesy of Miss Berry, and a magazine.

"Do you want a refill?"

"No, thank you," he smiles at her briefly before ducking back behind his magazine. He looks up again when he feels her sitting down next to him. She's clutching her own steaming mug, the second refill of some voice enhancing herb she had seen the Gerber-baby write about in a NYADA-related blog. She wanted to be ahead of her competition.

"Are we going to talk about it?" she addresses him after several minutes of silence.

"No, I believe we won't," he smiles sugar-sweetly at her, and tediously studies the article about elegant evening make up in seven simple steps.

"Kurt, we're friends, you can tell me anything. And I need to know that we've got this communication thing down for when we're not living together any longer." Rachel leans her head on his shoulder, and strokes her fingers through his hair.

"We are friends," Kurt reassures her, and imagines them having different addresses years away, "but it doesn't mean I have to tell you everything."

"But you're not even telling me anything," Rachel sighs.

"I'm sorry if you feel hurt, but I'm pretty sure it's up to me how I deal with my problems, and who I consider sharing anything with," Kurt says coldly. He loves Rachel to bits, but she needs to learn how to back off and respect his boundaries.

"I just… I can't believe you told Blaine, the boy who broke your heart and who you've tried to stay away from for the last five years. While I, faithful and patient friend and roommate for the same five years, am kept out of the loop."

"Don't!" Kurt warns her. "Don't drag the cheating and breakup into this, trying to make me doubt and regret confiding in him. Besides, as you said yourself – you don't know anything, and you don't know how Blaine learned about whatever is going on."

"I'm sorry," Rachel murmurs chastised. "But you can't blame me for worrying. We all do."

"Who are 'we'?" Kurt asks suspiciously.

Rachel sits up from her cuddling position, and looks ashamed.

"I may have invited a few of your closest friends over for tea and scones one night you were working with that theater project of yours."

"Which includes?" he asks with narrowed eyes.

"Mercedes," she sighs. "And Elliot. Puck was visiting Sam, so they both tagged along. Isabelle."

"Oh my Gaga, you invited my former boss?" Kurt groans.

"You and I both know that she was never just your boss. What about fairy godmother? Friend? Family?"

"Next you're gonna tell me you called my dad."

"I considered it…"

"Rachel…" Kurt groans again. "So what did this secret insane society of yours come up with?"

"Unless you spill something by Wednesday, we're staging an intervention," she says gravely.

"You wouldn't."

"We would. We will."

"What's with the weird deadline anyway?" Kurt says, while he tries to come up with a topic that would steer this too intimate and involved conversation in a different direction.

"Because Hugh is coming to visit on Friday morning, so I need to make sure I've sorted out the mess in my best gay's life by then. I need to devote myself completely and equally to the important persons in my life."

"I didn't know Hugh was coming over," Kurt says surprised. "Do I need to buy noise cancelling earplugs?" he tries to wiggle his eyebrows playfully, but he's still caught in the unexpected news.

"I told you ages ago that he'd be coming. And that's what I'm talking about. You seem so trapped in your head, you're not even able to notice what's going on around you."

"I'm sorry," he whispers sincerely. He doesn't want to be that kind of friend, he doesn't want his problems to take up so much space he ignores his friends.

"And no, you don't need to go shopping on my behalf. Hugh has booked himself a hotel room. You won't have to sit up and wait for me," she bats her eyes playfully.

"I did not need to know that," Kurt shivers, but inwardly he's glad for Rachel. From what he's gathered, she had a lot of fun with this Hugh while she was in London. Good for her. She's sensible and smart, let her have some nostalgic fun in a hotel room with someone safe and familiar. Considering how he's hooked up with Blaine in the past, he is in no position to judge her. People do have needs.

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><p>Rachel gave him a five days deadline to open up, or there would be an intervention. He's not sure what that means, but he's certain he won't enjoy it.<p>

Rachel is fierce enough to have negotiated with fate, or so Kurt thinks when he hears from Dr. Larson just the day before his deadline. She's found an oncologist for him, and due to a cancellation, the specialist can see Kurt the next day.

True to his words, he texts Blaine a quick update about the progress, and then he sits down to mull over how much he needs to tell Rachel – or rather, how little he can get away with revealing to her. He knows she'll be home early today, and they have a standing agreement to have dinner together. He might just as well get started on the cooking, it might help him think. And maybe a delicious meal will make Rachel so grateful she forgets to snoop in his private life. Until she's back home, he can allow himself to hope, at least.

He has learned a lot about vegan cooking after living with Rachel for five years, so he doesn't even have to plan a menu, but automatically prepares a feta-salad, a vegetable-soup and homemade focaccia bread with black olives. Everything smells delicious, and by the time Rachel arrives, he's happily humming a whimsical tune.

"It's a pity you wouldn't marry me. I need your cooking in my life," Rachel smiles and hugs him from behind.

The proposal came up almost a year ago, during a very drunk new year's eve-party. Rachel had been drinking, more than necessary, and she got nostalgic, missing Finn and mourning the new love she had never found. She had rambled about not wanting to die alone, Kurt had tried to comfort her and reminded her that he was single too. And that's when she got the bright idea. If neither had a boyfriend, they obviously should get hitched.

"You seem to be stuck with me for an unforeseeable future anyway," Kurt shrugs. They've been living together for so long, he can hardly imagine anything else.

"You better start writing a cookbook, so that I won't starve the day I move out."

"Of course," he placates her. It's not as if there's an immediate risk of her changing address.

She offers to set the table, and it doesn't take long before they've sat down to enjoy the meal. Rachel tells him about her day, and a few - in hindsight - funny near-accidents during rehearsal.

"You gave me a deadline," he introduces hesitantly when there's a lull in Rachel's eager monologue. "And I'm not ready to tell you everything. But I have an appointment with a doctor tomorrow," he says softly, trying to make the words seem kinder, more innocent. From the way she looks at him with wide, blank eyes, he knows he failed.

"Oh Kurt…"

"They say it's not too serious, that I don't need to worry. I'm still being tested," Kurt hurriedly explains, while Rachel gets up from her chair to hug him. He gets up from his seat to easier hug her back.

"Does it have anything to do with your voice?" she asks worriedly, brushing a finger along the side of his throat.

"No, honey," he reassures her fondly.

"Does it…" She swallows heavily, and takes a step back to look at him. "Knowing your family history… Is it your… heart?" she sniffs, and Kurt blanches. Never for a second did he think her mind would take her in that direction.

"No, my heart is fine, I promise," he nods seriously, and grabs her in his arms when she starts crying.

"I've been so worried, and you can't just keep these things from me. I've lost too much already!" she sobs, shaking in his embrace.

He should have known what her mind was capable of. It's not that he had forgotten, but because he knows what's wrong with him, he never saw or imagined a connection to the most serious health problems in his family. He'll never forget how scared he was of losing his dad during his heart attack, but it was his prostate scare that reverberated the strongest.

And Finn… They'll never recover entirely from losing Finn so suddenly and unnecessarily. And he never intended to remind Rachel of that pain. It had been Finn's heart that gave out. He had been feeling short breathed for a while, but chalked it up to more exercise than usual after a longer period of too much junk food. He just thought he was out of shape, and nobody thought a young boy could be seriously sick at 19. But then one morning he didn't wake up; Finn was gone forever.

Kurt knows he should have taken a lesson from that, and consider his health more important, instead of hesitating and procrastinating when Blaine pointed out that something could be wrong. But he's too tired to face a new health scare, he's too exhausted to stomach any new problems. So he had chosen to ignore it for a while, not realizing that other people around him might notice and worry and remember Finn. He's been selfish, and now he's upset Rachel much more than he ever intended.

He tightens his hold around her shaking body.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, I'm sorry I made you think about the worst. I promise you I'll be fine," he says. He doesn't believe the words himself, but Blaine told him he would be, and he needs Blaine to be honest with him now.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Rachel wakes him up with a fruit smoothie.<p>

"This will give you plenty of energy, and replaces the false need you have for coffee. Caffeine isn't healthy for you, and if you eat enough vitamins that's all your body need to function throughout a day."

"Rachel, I love you, but if you revoke my coffee privileges, I will not hesitate to move out without revealing my new address."

"Well, excuse me for wanting to give you the best possible start to a new day, the same day you're doing new tests at the doctor's, and your whole destiny may depend on too much latte!"

"I seriously doubt the tests will be affected by my one daily indulgence. In case you haven't noticed, I eat healthily and work out every other day. Not everyone can say the same," he smirks. To prove his point, he lifts his tank top and clenches to show off his abs.

"That's disgusting," Rachel spits. "I could have been married to those!" She reaches out an arm as if trying to touch, but Kurt swats it away.

"Girl cooties," he warns her.

"Drink this, hit the shower, dress nicely, and get going before you're late for your doctor's appointment," Rachel scolds back.

"Yes, Mama."

* * *

><p>He should probably count his blessings, and as first impressions go, he genuinely likes his oncologist. If he has to spend some time with a stranger talking about the scariest and most intimate problem he's currently dealing with, he's glad it's a person he takes an instant liking to.<p>

Something as basic as his name had made Kurt smile, and think fondly about Blaine's Top 40-obsession back in high school.

Dr. Perry had given Kurt time, and encouraged him to tell him everything he knew and thought relevant in his own pace, without interrupting. Only when Kurt considered himself done, had the doctor asked follow-up questions.

"I did get your file transferred, but I like to talk with my patients instead of reading about them through someone else's observations and examinations," he had explained. He'd then continued to explain the blood tests, and what they found. What Kurt particularly appreciated about this man, was how he used actual English words, and not just medical Latin. Dr. Larson was difficult to understand with her medical jargon, and she didn't have the same patience. She just made Kurt feel stupid because he didn't understand, and didn't follow her chains of thought, and didn't do everything right according to her book.

While Dr. Perry, on the other hand, has booked a double-hour for Kurt, to make sure they have enough time. And he sits back in his chair with that friendly, patient expression that almost reminds Kurt of his dad. He just knows he won't be met with prejudice or judgment here.

"Mr. Hummel, I have to be honest with you. We still don't know much about your situation. The blood tests show that you have cancer cells in your body, and my clinical examination confirms unwanted change of size and texture for your testicle. But there are other factors I need more information about, so that's why you will be going through an ultrasound as soon as possible."

"What…" Kurt licks his dry lips, and takes a sip from the plastic cup of water Dr. Perry offered him earlier. "What kind of _factors_ are you thinking about?"

"Mr. Hummel…"

"Kurt," Kurt interrupts him. "Just call me Kurt. You've touched my balls, we're on first name-basis now," he laughs awkwardly, suddenly feeling nervous about what the doctor might have to tell him.

"Okay," the doctor smiles amused, "Kurt, I don't like to be a pessimist and worst case scenario-thinker. But it's my job to be realistic and cover all bases. We have more or less confirmed that you have some kind of tumor connected to your testicle. But we don't know if it stems from scrotum, or if it has spread from somewhere else. And even if the tumor stems from where we've localized it, it can also have spread to your intestines. You don't show any signs of it, and you haven't confirmed any typical pain pattern or symptoms through our conversation. But we need an ultrasound to know."

"So I could be really, really sick?" Kurt swallows heavily.

"Kurt, we already know you have cancer. We already know you are sick. Now it's a question of figuring out if it has spread, and from there we can talk about treatment."

"I'm sick… I have cancer…"

"I'm sorry, Kurt."

Kurt breathes slowly in and out, in and out, in, in and in, but he can't get enough oxygen, so he starts inhaling faster, but it doesn't help, and he leans forward resting his elbows on his knees. He gasps for air, and oh my god, the cancer has spread to his lungs, and now the evil tumors are choking him. Tears fall freely down his cheeks, and his lungs _hurt_.

"Close your eyes, Kurt, and exhale deeply," Dr. Perry's comforting voice worms its way into his ears, and two strong hands are holding his shoulders. "You're experiencing a panic attack, and it makes it difficult for you to breathe. Empty your lungs, and then inhale just a little, slowly, no rush. You're okay, that's it, you're doing fine. Breathe in, two three… Breathe out, two, three…" the doctor guides him, and Kurt follows his simple commands. Eventually, his lungs are screaming less from pain, and the dizziness fades.

"You're doing great, Kurt," the doctor murmurs. "Guess your brain caught up, but panicked. It's a lot to take in, I know, but just breathe in… And breathe out…"

Dr. Perry talks him through breathing, and Kurt should feel mortified by failing at such a basic, primal task. But right now he's just grateful he isn't alone.

"Do you have a friend you can call to walk you home? This day has been heavy for you, hasn't it?"

Kurt nods. The thought of going to work right now…

"Don't tell anyone, but it's my professional advice that you call in sick, and spend the day with someone you trust. Enjoy a slow whiskey or load up on tortillas, but splurge and spoil yourself. Your body is going through a shock, and you need to treat yourself nicely."

Kurt coughs to clear his voice.

"Ever after Dad got sick, I've been nagging him about eating healthily," Kurt chuckles humourlessly.

"I'll never advice my patients to have whiskey each day, or remove fruit, vegetables and fish from their diet," the doctor smiles wryly. "But you are allowed a day with comfort food, especially after distressing news."

Kurt ducks his head, but smiles.

"So, skipping work and bulge-eating my weight in cheesecake would be the doctor's order?"

"Absolutely," he chuckles. "Your case is given priority, so you should get an appointment for the ultrasound within a limited timeframe. Live your life as normal, and don't worry – but spend today with a friend, until your brain has readjusted and doesn't surprise you with more panic attacks. If you want, you can wait in the other examination room and do the necessary phone calls?"

Kurt thought Dr. Perry had been joking or exaggerating, but he seems adamant that Kurt have company today. So Kurt nods his head and smiles politely, while trying to come up with a game plan for getting out of work. The doctor leads him to a room with a hospital bed, a chair, a sink, and a privacy curtain.

"You can just relax here until someone picks you up, okay?"

Kurt thanks the overly cautious doctor, and calls the one person he can think of right now. Someone who already knows and won't need too many explanations. Then he calls Dany and begs her to take his shift at the diner. He knows she's a sweetheart that won't ask questions, and she doesn't disappoint. She tells him to take care, and he promises to return the favour whenever she needs it. Then he curls up on the bed; he's just going to rest his eyes for a moment.


	10. The Tension

**SOOORRRYYYYYY!**

**It's just been one of those weeks, and I have literally had no time to sit down and upload my fic. So much going on, good things, but time-consuming things. I'm finally here now, though, and hope you'll enjoy this chapter. I love getting your feedback, even when you don't like Rachel's actions or understand Kurt's intentions or support Blaine's attitude. But I hope you'll stick to this story, and meet me on the other end.**

**As usual, I kindly ask for no season 6-spoilers.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

* * *

><p>Blaine can't help the way his heart skips a beat whenever he sees Kurt's name on his phone screen, whether it be a new text or an incoming call. It still catches him by surprise, he is far from used to having Kurt back in his life, even in the terms of a strained, fumbling reacquainting friendship.<p>

It was a stroke of luck that he was resting with a cup of coffee in the backroom in between rehearsals when his phone chirped, announcing someone wanting to talk with him. Phones are banned from stage, but he gave Cooper and his dad the number to the administration office in case of emergency. His personal phone will only be checked during short breaks when he's working in the theater. And he'd been granted a break while Louis worked on a solo. It was supposed to be time spent brushing up on lyrics, lines or choreography, but Blaine had granted himself ten minutes to rejuvenate with caffeine after a night of restless sleep thinking about Kurt's doctor appointment today. Which made it even more whoa that Kurt was the one calling him.

Kurt had seemed nervous, and he didn't entirely make sense in their short conversation, but from what Blaine understood something had happened at the doctor's office, and he needed someone to keep him company. Blaine was honoured that Kurt thought of him, and it seemed really important. So he made sure he got the address right, before explaining to his producer about the family emergency. Kurt had once been like family, so the lie wasn't that farfetched.

He hailed a cab, hoping the driver could get him to the doctor quickly. He wasn't all that comfortable travelling in New York by the underground yet, he hasn't lived here for long enough to know his way around. He's comfortable getting from his apartment to his theatre, he has found several places he enjoys to buy coffee, get his groceries, explore the myriad of gramophone records (thanks to Elliot), go jogging, enjoy a beer while listening to open mic-performers, or just sit on a bench or a staircase to observe and take in everything New York. But if he has to go somewhere on short notice, he doesn't trust his own navigation skills yet. And in this case, time seemed to be an issue, so he won't waste time trying to figure the shortest leg from A to B, no matter how foolproof the numbering system of the New York streets is supposed to be.

Blaine can't see Kurt anywhere in the waiting room, and the receptionist looks confused for a moment when he asks to see Mr. Kurt Hummel. But then her face lights up, and she beckons for him to follow her. She takes him to an office in the back of the building, rests her index finger over her lips in the universal ssh-sign, and carefully opens the door. The room is half lit, but he can vaguely see the outline of a big lump on the bed. The receptionist nods towards the pile of Kurt, smiles, and leaves them alone. Blaine tiptoes inside, and tries to wake him up gently.

"Kurt, let's get you home," he says softly, jostling him kindly.

"'m sleeping," Kurt mumbles.

"It really isn't considered sleeping if you can reply in a proper sentence. You had both the subject and the verb, so it counts as a complete sentence. Come on, sleepyhead," Blaine smiles, and tugs at Kurt's hand.

The boy is shaky on his feet when he climbs out of bed, and Blaine has to help him regain his balance.

"Did the doctor give you anything, or are you just sleep-woozy?"

"I ain't taking drugs," Kurt drawls, making Blaine laugh.

"That's good. Are you ready to find your own bed?"

Kurt had insisted on being able to walk on his own when they got out of the building, and he had seemed perfectly fine, but Blaine can't stop worrying. But he also knows it isn't in his job description to wrap an arm around Kurt's waist to offer support, when Kurt claims to be fine. There are boundaries he can't overstep now that they are maybe-hopefully friends, even if his muscle memory wants to do the things he was allowed and expected and encouraged to do when they were dating.

Again, Blaine isn't sure how to get somewhere the quickest, so it's Kurt who guides them home by foot, subway, and then foot again. Kurt seems clear, present-minded and steady on his feet, but Blaine also knows that Kurt is a really great actor who got used to hiding his problems during high school. He can't know for sure, of course, but he suspects Kurt still takes advantage of that particular knack.

"Do you want coffee?" he asks as soon as he's closed the door to the loft apartment behind them. Blaine had coffee when Kurt called, but he has a high quality coffee maker, while the theatre has an old Moccamaster with a sour aftertaste. So he accepts the offer, and does as Kurt says when the young man tells him to get comfortable on the couch.

"Are you okay?" he asks as soon as Kurt has joined him.

"Yeah," Kurt sighs, sounding anything but. "I guess I finally understood, and I ended with a minor panic attack," he shrugs nonchalantly, as if it was nothing.

"Kurt…" Blaine whispers sadly, and rests a hesitant hand on the other boy's shoulder for a moment.

"Dr. Perry – the oncologist – didn't want me to be alone. He suggested I'd need a friend to talk with. And since you're the only one who knows…" Kurt continues matter-of-factly, and takes a sip of his coffee.

The cold disappointment chills him to his bones. He wasn't Kurt's first option. He was his only option.

"I'm sorry for interrupting you at work. I was a little out of it when I called, and I didn't think it properly through. I… I have cancer," he swallows, and Blaine's heart aches for him.

"Don't worry about my job," Blaine murmurs, reeling in on the desire to wrap Kurt up in a hug. He doesn't know if that would be welcome now. "We still have plenty of rehearsal time before opening night," he continues dumbly. "Of course I'm here for you. How are you? Really?"

"I don't know. I just don't know." Kurt's hand are clutching his coffee mug, and he's looking out of the window and seemingly across the entire New York City. "The doctor told me to act normally, don't do anything special, and just wait for the next tests. But how can I sit here passively, and let the tumors eat me up from the inside?" Kurt turns his face towards Blaine, and Blaine feels as if he's being hit in his stomach by the sight of Kurt's saddened face. "How can I just let it happen to me, how can there not be anything to do to stop it, or at least slow it down? How am I supposed to just wait and hope for the best?"

Kurt is working himself up, and Blaine lets boundaries be boundaries, and scoots over to rest a comforting hand on Kurt's shoulder again. He takes his hand in his other, momentarily remembering how right it feels to touch Kurt.

"You are seeing a doctor who specializes in cancer. If he says you have time to wait for the next test, then you are going to continue with your days as well as you can."

"But what if…?"

"If you notice something changing, I'm sure you can call your doctor. But for now, you just wait. I know you can't pretend it isn't happening, but you don't have to let it control you. It hasn't taken over your body, and you can't let it take over your mind. And I forbid you to do any more online research; it'll just keep you up at night with your worst case scenario-ideas."

"How do you know so well what to say to calm me down?" Kurt pouts cutely, and places his other hand on top of their intertwined fingers.

"Best friend-privileges of once knowing you better than anyone, combined with some luck," Blaine shrugs.

"You don't owe me anything, and you might think it's weird, but…" Kurt hesitates, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth.

"But what?"

"Would you mind holding me, just a little?"

"Not at all," Blaine smiles fondly. He doesn't say it, but thinks that considering the day Kurt's had, anyone could need a hug by now. He tugs at the blanket wrapped up and draped over the armrest of the couch. "Lie down, and I'll be your big spoon."

They shuffle a little to get in position, and there's an awkward moment when they both are too aware of how intimate this is, and their bodies go all stiff and uncooperative, but then muscle memory kicks in again, and they melt together with Blaine's arms wrapped tightly around Kurt's waist.

"Dr. Perry advised against being alone today, as if finally understanding that I have cancer," Kurt more or less spits out the word, "makes me more vulnerable."

"I can imagine it's overwhelming," Blaine whispers into Kurt's neck. "I'm still trying to understand it all," he admits. He had been suspecting it might be the case when he approached Kurt about his testicle, but he had hoped he was wrong. And it's a far stretch from suspecting to accepting it. "These things don't happen to someone you know, and most certainly not when we are so young..." he whispers, and tries to hold back tears. He needs to be strong for Kurt; this is his chance to actually do something good for him.

"I thought the Hummel's had enough the last years…" Kurt mutters.

"When are you telling your dad?" Blaine can already imagine Burt and Carole's sad faces, and he just knows they'll move heaven and earth to help their son. He's hit with a bolt of longing. He hasn't seen them in years, and right now he could need Burt's calm and soothing presence, and Carole's loving doting. This is bigger than Kurt, bigger than him and Kurt, it's not something anyone can do alone.

"I have no idea," Kurt admits. "I should have told him already, shouldn't I?"

Blaine doesn't answer him. They both know the answer.

"I just didn't want to worry him, or distract him when he's fighting so hard against the new bill that'll revoke adoption rights for gay couples. I hoped it would be better to tell him everything at once, instead of fragments now and then. I guess I was waiting for more details, so I wouldn't have to leave him with questions unanswered."

"I think there will always be questions," Blaine murmurs, and tightens the embrace around Kurt's waist.

"Yeah…"

They're both silent for a long while then. Blaine knows Kurt is crying silently, but he just holds him, and tugs the blanket firmer around them.

"Thank you for being here," Kurt eventually says with a hoarse voice.

"Always."

It's inevitable that they fall asleep, and it's late in the afternoon when they groggily wake up, a little confused and bleary-eyed. Their stomachs are revolting at the ignorance, so Kurt orders them Chinese, muttering something about splurging on fat.

They sit together under the blanket with cardboard boxes and chopsticks. They talk for hours, about cancer and about any random thought. Whenever they stumble upon something Kurt desperately needs more information about, Blaine does the googling and filters the answers he gives his ex.

Neither questions how Blaine simply doesn't leave, and it is a logical continuation of the day that he spends the night, curled up behind Kurt in his bed. Kurt kisses him briefly on his cheek, before turning around and molding his body against Blaine's. They've talked about cancer, about the next tests, quite morbidly Kurt had a need to describe his ideal funeral, they've cried a little, and then Kurt cursed out anything and everything that might have caused him cancer while Blaine tried to be the strong and calm one so that he could comfort Kurt. It's not easy to see someone you care a great deal about so wrought out, and Blaine could easily have joined the rant of how unfair this is. But Kurt needs someone to be there for him, so Blaine will do his damnedest to be that someone. It's the least he owes him.

* * *

><p>Waking up in bed with Kurt in his arms had been tremendous, even if it also ached in ways that nothing had ever hurt before. It was just a tease, a reminder of what could have been if Blaine hadn't ruined it all. To make it worse, he didn't even have time to stay, but needed to get going to the theatre right away. Fortunately, he had spare clothes in his locker there, so he wouldn't have to work in what he wore the day before. He'd quickly learned to keep different outfits in his locker, to accommodate the varying schedule. After intense dance rehearsals, it felt good to tear off sweaty clothes and get into a pair of comfortable jeans, a polo and a bowtie for the next hour of singing. Or if he wasn't needed in a scene, it could get cold sitting in the empty audience, so he put on the thick shawl sweater in his locker.<p>

Blaine being Blaine had apologized profusely to the producer and instructors for having to bail on them, but they understood. Family crisis' can happen to anyone. Fortunately, they didn't enquire about what kind of family or crisis – they knew his brother was an actor living in LA, and Blaine isn't sure if he's mentioned his family in Ohio or not. Honestly, he hasn't gotten around to learn much about his co-workers and fellow actors yet. He's been busy getting settled in his new apartment, figuring out the personality of his character and getting to know him, showing up at the right place at the right time for costume measurements, vocal instructions, dance lessons, costume fittings, hair, history lessons, stage fight-prepping, rehearsals… The list goes on and on. And in between, he's discovering New York, hanging out with his old high school-friends, getting to know Dany and Elliot, playing with Santana and Brittany's adopted daughter who finally came from Ukraine, and mulling over Kurt. Honestly, Blaine's days are crammed with too much already, and he more often than not falls asleep before his head has settled properly on his pillow. But he spends a lot of hours at work, so maybe he should make an effort to get to know his colleagues better. He'll accept a lunch invitation the next time someone asks. He's pretty sure he likes all of them, he just doesn't know them very well yet.

Someone must have been reading Blaine's mind, because when he arrives at the theater the next morning, Kiara unceremoniously declares that the core cast is all going out for cocktails after work, to loosen up and spill shameful secrets. It's a Friday, they don't have anywhere mandatory to be the next day, so no excuse will be accepted. Blaine smiles happily at the invitation slash summoning, and remembers with relief that he also happens to have a more stylish outfit in his locker than the worn-but-comfy jeans and plain button-up he chose this morning.

The director must recognize their restlessness as the hours draw closer to five and the weekend, and at four they are all dismissed with threats of capital punishment if they don't learn to concentrate better by Monday morning.

Kiara guides the merry bunch to what she claims to be one of her favourite places to eat and get drunk, when both Mark and Tim declare they need some kind of dinner before drinking. With flourish, Kiara stops in front of a tiny place that serves tapas so tasty it makes Madrid shiver in shame, and sangria that makes all the problems in the world disappear. Or so she claims.

The seven of them get a table and menus, and Blaine silently tries to remember the names of everyone around him. There's Kiara, of course, who is portraying "Tommy's" scandalous love interest; "Angelina". "Tommy" is "Johnny's" best friend on stage, but Blaine hasn't really talked a lot with Mark. He should probably rectify that in hopes of having better on stage-chemistry. Tim plays Blaine's boyfriend, still to be named. Maya plays the evil, two-faced Mayor Richardson. Meredith plays "Mrs. Johnson" – mother of "Angelina", and the one who falsely accuses "Johnny" of raping his boyfriend, to distract attention when someone blabs to her about the illicit affair between "Angelina" and "Tommy". Then there is a girl who Blaine can't remember the name of, but she plays the lawyer Miss Iglesias, who goes from conservative thinking to being pro equal rights.

They order a mix of platters, so that everyone can have a taste of everything. The waiter soon comes back with two large pitchers of sangria, and pieces of bread to dip in a mouth-watering aioli.

"So, New Kid," Kiara grins wolfishly, and nudges his foot under the table, "what's your story? Most of us have met each other sometime in the audition circus, but your face is baby-fresh and exciting. Where have you been all my life?"

Blaine blushes from the collective attention, and takes a large sip of his sangria to swallow the last of bread in his mouth. Attention that doesn't come from his achievements on stage is still overwhelming, and makes him feel ridiculously self-aware.

"I've been living in LA for the last four years or so, and recently moved here to be with you guys in this awesome play," he tells them, and as usual holds back information. He grew out of his over-sharing tendencies at LAADA, and the heartache he suffered for most of his Senior year at McKinley and then throughout his Freshman year in LA taught him to keep new people at a slight distance and to protect his heart. He's not some cold stonehearted bitch, and he still easily makes new friends. He just ends up knowing more about them than they know of his life.

The waiter comes back with seven mojitos, as Kiara claimed they had to start drinking to give the poor blood a chance of alcohol poisoning, before they started eating and all the food would absorb the fun. Blaine almost chokes on a mint leaf, when Kiara asks her next question.

"I don't see a ring on your finger, but I know that doesn't mean anything. Should I get my hopes up, or are you just gonna break my optimistic heart?" Kiara leans in to ask conspiratorially, but loud enough for the others to hear. The girl who Blaine can't remember the name of leans closer with a hungry look on her face.

"I'm an old-fashioned guy who would like a ring on his finger," he says and wiggles his hand playfully, and it catches him how it reminds him of Kurt's _Single Ladies_-moves. "So yes, I'm single. And I'm gay," he adds.

"Damn. Okay, then you have to be my friend, at least, because you're too fabulous not to be in my life," she pouts.

"Hey!" Maya objects.

"Oh shush, we were fabulous in our own way until you had to fall in love with your understudy, but this one is something really special," she winks, and wraps an arm around Blaine's shoulder. He instinctively tenses, and she continues to talk as if nothing happened and fluidly removes her arm.

He finishes his mojito while Kiara talks about some make up-artist from a previous show she performed in who would be perfect for Blaine.

"With all respect, but you don't know enough about me to set me up with someone," he says politely. "Besides, I'm not looking for a relationship right now."

"He doesn't have to put a ring on your finger. There are other kinds of rings he can put on other kinds of body parts," she wiggles her eyebrows playfully and looks pointedly towards his crotch under the tablecloth.

"I'm sure your friend is nice and all, but umm… No thanks," he says flustered, and pours himself a new glass of sangria which he downs in one go.

"Ooh, look at that cute blush. You're not a worldly man, are you? Oh my god, did I just proposition a virgin?" she splutters, and cackles while she slams her palm against her forehead. "_Hello, I'm Kiara, and I have no social intelligence whatsoever_," she says snarkily, putting on some kind of Russian accent. She actually reminds him of a mix of Santana, Kitty and Unique, but with less filter. Blaine decides he likes her. And he's not going to let her steamroll all over him anymore with her bluntness.

"Honey, look at me," he says, extending his arms as if to present himself. "You said it yourself – I'm fabulous. There have been some fortunate men granted access to this," he winks.

She whistles and fans herself with the napkin.

"Where are you even from?"

"Ohio," he deadpans, which wakes Tim up for the conversation.

"Now I'm not the only redneck you can tease for getting lost on the subway," he grins at Mark.

Blaine wants to object to being pegged as a redneck, but he has to admit to himself that the part with the subway rings true.

Two mojitos and a glass of sangria later, Blaine excuses himself, saying he needs to make a phone call. Which in his world is code for using the toilet, but you just don't say that out loud. This place is one of those places who gives no regards to gender, and has one bathroom with several stalls and no urinoar. He read an article about how it's an experiment, to see if men are cleaner and tidier in a bathroom they have to share with strange women. Will their aim and use of soap improve with the very potential risk of a woman walking in on them?

While he's doing his business, he can hear the door slam open, and someone walks in.

"Okay Tim, spill. What's so important you had to drag me to the bathroom?" Kiara sounds pissed.

"I…" Tim stutters, but Kiara must do something that makes him yelp and continue quicker. "Blaine is my on-stage boyfriend, and I have to kiss him. But now that he's gay I don't know if I can do that!"

Blaine's heart sinks. He never expected the world to be entirely progressive and openminded yet, but he had his naïve hopes that working within the arts with a stereotypical dominance of queer among the men would make his life easier. But it doesn't seem like it.

"Tim, you better remember that my latest ex might have been a boy, but the ex before that was Maya. If you're saying what I think you're saying, I don't want to hear any more of it. Whatever issues you're having, they are yours and of no concern to Blaine. Figure it out like a mature human being, and open your eyes. Neil Freaking Patrick Harris is one of the investors of _Beezwax_, goddamnit."

The door closes loudly, but Blaine can't hear for sure if one or two pair of shoes walk out. He waits another minute to be sure Tim has left.

When he returns to their table, he says something about a splitting headache, excuses himself, and leaves while Meredith giggles something that sounds suspiciously like "booty call".


	11. The Hook-Up

**Phuh, I managed to update on a Thursday this time :p **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or anything you might recognize.**

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><p>Kurt hadn't even considered going to Elliot's party. He wasn't in a particularly festive mood, and he didn't want to be their own personal party-pooper with his blues. But Rachel seemed determined to put a stopper to his plans of not having any plans this Saturday night, and occupied his bedroom with her nagging.<p>

"I know that you are thinking about whatever the doctors are doing to you. But no matter if you are there or not, I will spend time worrying about you, and the others will notice. You might as well make an appearance, to reassure everyone that you haven't abandoned them in favour of a new group of more fashion-forward friends and to distract them from noticing my worries. Even I have limitations to my acting skills when my best gay is hurting."

"I'd rather poke them on Facebook," Kurt had insisted vehemently – if Facebook even still existed. He hadn't been logged on to that thing since Blaine told him he had cheated on him with someone he met on said social network.

"Elliot doesn't have an account. Besides, it's important to me that you come to this party. I want you to meet Hugh."

"He's sitting right there!" Kurt had laughed hysterically, and pointed at his partition, knowing Rachel's whatever-he-is was sitting in their couch and waiting for her. "I'll peek around the curtain and nod hello, if that's so important to you."

"No, I want you to make a proper first impression on him, and right now you are being a fool, and ridiculing me. I don't make stupid decisions, and being your friend is one of the smartest things I've ever done. Because Hummel's aren't quitters, and you are the only one who could keep up with me and even give me some competition. So get up and put some clothes on, because you are going to that party!"

"Dad used to say that nobody pushes the Hummel's around," Kurt smirks, quite enjoying the frustrated anger Rachel is trying to manipulate him with. She's silent for a long while, until she grabs his phone from the charger, and jumps back, away from his reach.

"I'll call your dad," she says. "If you don't come with me to Elliot's, I swear I'll call your dad and tell him everything I know. Considering that isn't much, I know he's bound to worry from the lack of details. So what's it gonna be?"

Kurt swears, but realizes he's lost, and rolls out of bed.

"I'm not changing in front of you."

"Don't try any funny business!" she warns him.

"We live in a loft. I'm not gonna climb out of the window," he huffs.

"Okay. Good," she nods, and marches out of his private corner.

He sighs deeply, and starts going through his wardrobe, wondering what to wear when you want to reassure everyone that you are perfectly fine without drawing attention to you at all.

"You have ten minutes, or I'm calling Burt!" Rachel yells at him. Good thing he has a few emergency outfits prepared, then.

It's not his proudest moment, when he steps out to join his crazy and her gentleman. He has to force himself to meet the Brit's eyes. The man is simply smiling at him, though, as if he's used to much more than Rachel's hissyfits and petulant gays combined.

"Hugh Watson. Nice to meet you," he extends a hand, and talks with an accent that vaguely reminds Kurt of Rory.

"Kurt Hummel. I'm sorry, I'm usually able to act like a 25-year old. It's just… It's been quite a month," he apologizes, the humiliation of how he acted finally catching up with him.

"No worries. Shite happens," he smiles. "There's always the possibility to get smashed," he says easily and chuckles.

Rachel shoos them out, and soon they are on the subway headed for Elliot's place. Rachel and Hugh discuss the differences and similarities between British and American underground, while Kurt stealthily observes them. He can understand the appeal, why Rachel would take a liking to this man. He is calm enough to survive the whirlwind Rachel is, but also confident enough to object if he doesn't agree with her. They laugh a lot, and Rachel seems to be talking more than she is patronizing or lecturing him, which is a nice change. Kurt loves Rachel, but to be honest – she can be a bitch and act like a little miss Knows-It-All. Less now than in high school, though. Hugh is also easy on the eye. He's a little plain looking at first glance, average height and build, nothing that makes him stand out. But if you offer him a second glance, you notice that he's actually really cute, with freckles and red curls. He gets prominent dimples when he smiles, his eyes are genuinely kind, and his attention towards Rachel seems honest. Good for Rachel, finding someone who isn't just attracted to the assumed glamour.

The party is in full swing, which isn't a surprise considering how much Kurt delayed this trio. As soon as Kurt is spotted behind Rachel and Hugh, everyone gets up to hug him, greet him, yell at him for his absence, or just make sure he's not a drunken hallucination. Kurt feels sorry for Rachel, who obviously was excited to introduce Hugh to her friends.

"I need something to drink if I'm going to survive this mayhem. I will be back, and you all will behave," he instructs them, and backs towards the kitchen, waving a warning finger playfully at them. Hopefully they will notice Hugh as soon as he is out of sight, and Rachel can parade her arm-candy. He gets his bottle of red wine out of his satchel, and opens the drawer where he knows Elliot keeps his bottle opener. He chooses one of his friend's inexpensive Ikea-glasses, knowing those in the front of the cupboard are made of crystal and bought in Prague, a gift from an ex. Even if that particular man didn't turn out to be a collector's item, Kurt knows Elliot cherishes the glasses. So he won't risk ruining them during a drunken party. They are saved for a calmer dinner or a quiet night nibbling Italian cheese and Spanish smoked ham. He should know; he's been treated to some of Elliot's calmer soirees.

When he returns, his suspicions are confirmed; Rachel and Hugh are surrounded by their friends. Kurt joins them, hearing the end of a sentence about Queen, but he's not sure if it is the band or the royal.

He shouldn't be so surprised to see Blaine among the guests, when he knows Elliot and his ex have bonded over their love for music and bizarre artists. But he still hadn't prepared himself to see him, and now he can't stop worrying if Blaine – who knows everything – will want to talk about it. Because Kurt is so not interested, he just wants to drink and forget for one night. Blaine doesn't acknowledge him, though, so that seems to be a blessing on an otherwise crappy night.

Later, though, Kurt has to admit he's glad he went to the party. It's good to see his friends again. Elliot has great music taste, his appetizers are delicious, Mercedes and Sam are too adorable in their still fresh engagement-bliss, Santana is surprisingly calm today, and Brittany has stopped shooting daggers at Dany – being pregnant in 7th month brought out the jealousy in her. The third glass of wine might also do something good to his attitude.

Puck slides up to him, with a beer bottle in his right hand.

"If anyone is giving you crap, I hope you remember that I'll kick their asses for you? I know you have steel toes on some of your boots, and I know you're badass. But if you need back up, I've got your back, okay?"

Kurt rolls his eyes at him, but smiles. It's actually sweet that Puck is still protective of him. Too bad he can't cure cancer.

Puck disappears to woo his lovely wife Quinn into dancing with him, or so he says. Kurt scans the room, and his eyes stop on Blaine. He's sitting in the same place as he did earlier, except now he has four empty shot glasses on the table in front of him. Kurt walks determinedly over to him.

"What's the matter?" he murmurs, and sits down on the armrest next to Blaine. It's not like Blaine to drink for the sake of getting drunk as quickly as possible. He looks silent and pale, and now that Kurt thinks about it, Blaine's been silent and distant all night. He's usually so cheerful, making everybody feel good, bringing sun and joy to wherever he is.

"I'm fucked," Blaine mutters. "Fucketifucked."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Kurt offers quietly, and scoots closer, in case someone should be eavesdropping.

"Nah, you have enough on your plate," Blaine slurs drunkenly. "I want to create art, not hate. Might move back to LA and Cooper."

Blaine's words don't make any sense, but still they manage to scare him.

"I'm taking you home. You need to sleep off whatever is eating you tonight, okay?"

Blaine shrugs noncommittally, and takes a swig of his beer. Kurt gets up to tell Rachel he has to help Blaine home, and then to say goodbye to Elliot and thank him for a great party. It's already way after midnight, so it's not too suspicious that he calls it a night, and hopefully nobody notices how he's leaving with Blaine or assumes anything.

"So, where do you live, which train do we need to get to your place?"

"I don't know," Blaine frowns. "I know Cooper's address, though," he beams proudly.

"That's good, but we don't need that now. We need your current New York-address. Or at least the right station."

"It's something with a station," Blaine nods determinedly. "Piccadilly Circus!" he grins triumphantly.

"Honey, I'm pretty sure you don't live in London."

"Hugh and Rachel live in London," Blaine says drowsily, and leans against the building. Kurt doesn't correct his weird conception, when it's more important to figure out where he should take him.

"Do you have your address written in your wallet?"

"No!" Blaine growls with round eyes. "The burglars might find me then!"

"Of course," Kurt sighs. He's tired, a little drunk even if the cool night air is doing its best to sober him up, and he just doesn't have the patience to figure out where Blaine lives. There's only one option left.

"Come on, you're going home with me."

"Wee!" Blaine squeals, and claps his hands happily.

He's awfully handsy on the train to Bushwick, and Kurt tries to discourage him. He's never been one for too much PDA, and especially not with a drunk boy he once loved and now and then has hooked up with, but currently try to establish a friendship with. But Blaine is relentless, and keeps crowding his private sphere, nuzzling Kurt's neck and running two fingers up and down the outseam of his pants.

Kurt more or less drags him to the loft, not an easy task with an uncoordinated drunken octopus currently possessing Blaine's body. While Blaine uses the bathroom, Kurt prepares the couch for him, finding spare pillows and a thick blanket. He finds a bottle of water and two Advil for him to take in the morning. But when Kurt turns around, Blaine is already sprawled across his bed, face down.

"So you're sleeping in my bed?" Kurt muses, and kicks off his shoes. "At least get rid of the bowtie and jeans, those won't be comfortable in the morning."

He retrieves the water and painkillers while Blaine clumsily steps out of his clothes.

"Why is it so wrong to be gay?" he whines, when Kurt climbs in from the other side.

Kurt startles at the unexpected question, and can feel his shackles rising.

"There is nothing wrong about being gay," he says coolly. He once looked up to the proud, confident and popular Blaine. He later learned that Blaine also was insecure and scared, marked by his past and not quite comfortable with his present. But it only made him more human, more approachable. He never struck Kurt as the self-deprecating kind. Something must be going on.

"Tim thinks so," Blaine mutters into the pillow.

"Who's Tim?"

"Nobody. Somebody. Doesn't matter."

"Hey," Kurt objects, and scoots across the mattress close enough to run a hand over Blaine's shoulder blades. "You've been a good friend for me the last weeks, helping me with my shit. Let me return the favour and at least offer a shoulder or an ear."

Blaine doesn't say anything, so Kurt waits patiently, resting a hand on his back to remind him he's there. He tries very, very hard not to think about how much skin he has in front of him, with Blaine only wearing boxers and an undershirt, sprawled like a starfish on top of the covers.

"Tim is my homophobic love interest in _Beezwax_," Blaine finally mumbles.

"Sounds complicated, and eerily familiar," Kurt muses, imagining a plot similar to Dave's confusion at McKinley where he first tormented him and then tried to woo him for Valentine's.

"He's homophobic off stage and love interest on stage."

"Aah…"

"Now that I'm gay, he doesn't want to kiss me. I made him feel uncomfortable after rehearsing for a month without problems," Blaine continues. It has always impressed Kurt, how he doesn't lose the ability to string a sentence when he's drunk. He gets chatty, sure, but he also mostly makes sense.

"Blaine? You've always been gay," Kurt gently corrects him. "And if this Tim was fine kissing you last week, this shouldn't change a thing."

"I know that!" Blaine growls, looking at Kurt with wide-open eyes. "Tell it to Tim!"

"Have you tried talking with him?"

"He doesn't know I'm aware of his appa… appre… apprehension!" he exclaims triumphantly, conquering the word. "I kind of overheard a conversation in a bathroom," he continues sheepishly. It must be a defeat for a gentleman to admit undapper behaviour like that, Kurt briefly snickers to himself.

"And now you're too polite to take the confrontation…"

"I don't want to quit the play," Blaine looks at Kurt with moist eyes. "I love it."

"I know you do. And you don't have to quit. We'll figure something out."

"I wish I was straight…"

"No, you don't."

"No, I don't."

Blaine shuffles around until he's resting on his side, curled up close to Kurt, with one foot tucked between Kurt's feet, and an arm draped across his stomach.

"I wish someone would actually want to kiss me," he sighs sadly, head buried in the pillow.

Kurt is sober enough to know better, but he's also still drunk enough to not care. He cradles Blaine's jaw tenderly in his palm, and looks at him for a moment to make sure it's okay. Blaine is looking at him with awe, eyes shining with unshed tears, but behind it also a glimmer of happiness. Kurt licks his lips, which makes Blaine's eyes dart in that direction, so he leans in and presses a tender kiss to Blaine's mouth.

One kiss isn't enough, and Kurt dives in for more. Blaine whimpers against his skin, clawing at his clothes to crawl closer.

"Prejudice is just ignorance," Kurt pants, trying to ease Blaine with the words that once comforted him. "Courage, baby, don't let the haters get to you."

Blaine chokes on his own laugh, and chases Kurt's lips for more kisses. They kiss and kiss, even if a timid voice in the back of Kurt's head is trying to convince him how this is foolish. A different voice is belting out that Blaine needs this. Kurt lies down on his back, pulling Blaine with him to rest between his legs on top of him. They're both getting hard, just from this.

"Wanna blow you," Blaine whispers huskily against Kurt's skin, nibbling at his earlobe and creating goose bumps all over Kurt's body.

"No," Kurt shakes his head. No, he doesn't want anyone near him there, not so that they can see. He hasn't dared to look for himself lately, but he can feel the tumors growing, and he must look hideous down there. He doesn't want Blaine to be eye-level with his crotch. Or rather, his testicles. "No," he repeats, "like this." He eases his hands inside Blaine's underwear, and pulls the garment down his legs. Blaine takes the hint, and wiggles out of his briefs while trying to drag Kurt's pajama pants off of him. It's clumsily, and the alcohol in their veins isn't doing them any favours, but they manage to get naked. Kurt wraps his long legs around Blaine's body, and moans loudly when his body is arrested by the first pull of naked skin against naked skin. God, so good, Blaine always knew how to make him fall apart.

Blaine is shaking, and his face goes from smiling to worrying to wonder to smiling again. Kurt kisses the worry away, and when Blaine's hands wander down along his thighs, Kurt grabs him by the wrists, flips them over, and takes charge.

"No touching," he says playfully, trying to prevent Blaine's interest in touching him below the metaphorical belt. For once, his hands are not granted visas south of Equator.

The orgasm is like the ocean lapping lazily at him; the beach, fading in and out, but growing stronger for each return, until it grows to a storm he could drown in. Blaine is writhing under him, hands straining to get out of Kurt's firm hold, and he's prodded his heels in Kurt's back to encourage him to move harder, faster, stronger, quicker, more, more, more.

"I'm going to…"

"Yeah, me too…"

"Oh, I didn't know you were dating…"

Kurt's head snaps to his curtain, where Hugh is standing looking mortified – or at least the part of his face that isn't hidden behind two hands looks bright red and gawking.

"We're not dating," Kurt automatically corrects the Brit.

Unfortunately, Kurt's sudden movement is the last encouragement Blaine's body needs to let go, and he's coming wetly against Kurt's stomach.

"Oh God, oh God, oh my God," Blaine groans, and it's not the good kind of deity.

"I'm so sorry, Rachel said you were taking Blaine home, and sent me here to find a clutch she forgot earlier, while she powders her nose. She needed something from it before we're going to my hotel, you see, and now I'm rambling."

"Could you perhaps give us a moment?"

Hugh nods behind his hands, and backs out, not without bumping against a sharp edge and hissing in pain.

Kurt climbs off of Blaine, who hasn't said a word. He offers him a wet napkin, before cleaning up his own stomach. His once excited penis is now anything but interested in saluting. He quickly pulls on his sulking-outfit from earlier, and under his oversized McKinley-hoodie he finds Rachel's clutch. With a heavy sigh, he goes to find Hugh. The foreigner is pacing the floor, still looking flustered.

Kurt keeps an eye on the bathroom door, but all he can hear is Rachel singing.

"Could you please not tell her about this? She doesn't need to know, there really isn't anything to tell, just… Helping an ex scratch his itch?" Kurt whispers hurriedly, hoping Rachel won't walk out right now. If she sent Hugh in to his room, it must mean she didn't hear them, and with some luck she doesn't need to know they were ever there.

Hugh nods dumbly at him, and Kurt salutes him while hurrying back behind the curtain. He eases under his covers, just as he can hear Rachel saying something. A moment later, he hears the familiar sound of the heavy sliding door being locked.

"Phuh, that was a close one," Kurt exhales, and gets comfortable. "Good night!" he wishes his friend, before closing his heavy eyes.

"Good night," a voice croaks back.

When Kurt wakes up the next morning, the other half of his bed is cool to the touch, and there's no trace of Blaine ever being there.

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><p><strong>Author's note:<strong>

**Please don't hate me.**

**Have I ever written something without a happy ending?**


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